ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 


D..   r^T   AT>17 

P  S 

3521 

U64 

R7 

1922 

MAIN 


FRENDfiSTANDARD 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  St.,  New  York 


Rollo's  Wild  Oat 

A  COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS 

BY 
CLARE    KUMMER 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY  SAMUEL 


All  Rights  Reserved 


CAUTION  —  Professionals  and  amateurs  are  hereby 
warned  that  "ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT,"  being  fully 
protected  under  the  copyright  laws  of  the  United 
States  and  Great  Britain,  is  subject  to  a  royalty,  and 
any  one  presenting  the  play  without  the  consent  of 
the  author  or  his  authorized  agents  will  be  liable  to 
the  penalties  by  law  provided.  Applications  for  the 
amateur  acting  rights  must  be  made  to  SAMUEL 
FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York. 


NEW  YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 
25  WEST  45TH  STREET 


LONDON 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  LTD. 

26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET 

STRAND 


"  Rollo's  Wild 
All  Rights  Reserved 


Especial  notice  should  be  taken  that  the  possession 
of  this  book  without  a  valid  contract  for  production 
first  having  been  obtained  from  the  publisher,  confers 
no  right  or  license  to  professionals  or  amateurs  to 
produce  the  play  publicly  or  in  private  for  gain  or 
charity. 

In  its  present  form  this  play  is  dedicated  to  the 
reading  public  only,  and  no  performance,  representa 
tion,  production,  recitation  by  amateurs,  or  public  read 
ing,  or  radio  broadcasting  may  be  given  except  by 
special  arrangement  with  Samuel  French,  25  West 
45th.  Street,,  New  York. 

This' play;  may  be  presented  by  amateurs  upon  pay- 
merit  of  a  royalty*  of  Twenty-five  Dollars  for  each  per 
formance,  pajable'-to  Samuel  French,  25  West  45th 
.'Stnee't,  ;New-  York/  one  week  before  the  date  when  the 
play  is  given. 

Whenever  the  play  is  produced  by  amateurs  the  fol 
lowing  notice  must  appear  on  all  programs,  printing 
and  advertising  for  the  play:  "Produced  by  special 
arrangement  with  Samuel  French  of  New  York." 

Attention  is  called  to  the  penalty  provided  by  law 
for  any  infringement  of  the  author's  rights,  as  fol 
lows: 

"SECTION  4966: — Any  person  publicly  performing 
or  representing  any  dramatic  or  musical  composition 
for  which  copyright  has  been  obtained,  without  the 
consent  of  the  proprietor  of  said  dramatic  or  musical 
composition,  or  his  heirs  and  assigns,  shall  be  liable 
for  damages  thereof,  such  damages,  in  all  cases  to 
be  assessed  as  such  sum,  not  less  than  one  hundred 
dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars  for  every  sub 
sequent  performance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear  to  be 
just.  If  the  unlawful  performance  and  representation 
be  wilful  and  for  profit,  such  person  or  persons  shall 
be  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor,  and  upon  conviction  shall 
be  imprisoned  for  a  period  not  exceeding  one  year." — 
U.  S.  Revised  Statutes:  Title  60,  Chap.  3. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America  by 
THE  RICHMOND  HILL  RECORD,  RICHMOND  HILL,  N.  Y. 


The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  playbill  of  the  first 
performance  of  "Rollo's  Wild  Oat"  at  the  Punch 
and  Judy  Theatre,  New  York,  Tuesday  evening, 
November  23rd,  1920: 

"ROLLO'S    WILD    OAT" 

WITH 

ROLAND  YOUNG 
A  New  Comedy  in  Two  Acts  and  an  Interlude 

BY 

CLARE  KUMMER 
Stage  Direction  by  W.  L.  Gilmore 

CAST 
(In  the  order  of  their  appearance) 

HEWSTON,  ROLLO'S  man Ivan  Simpson 

LYDIA,  ROLLO'S  sister Marjorie  Kummer 

ROLLO  WEBSTER,  a  youth  with  aspirations Roland  Young 

MR.  STEIN,  a  theatrical  manager Dore  Davidson 

GOLDIE  MACDUFF,  an  actress Lotus  Robb 

MRS.  PARK  GALES ]  \...Edythe  Tressider 

WHORTLEY  CAMPERDOWN    I  All  of  the   J...7.  Palmer  Collins 
THOMAS  SKITTERLING.  . .    C  profession  |  Manuel  A.  Alexander 

GEORGE  Lucus I  |  . . .  .Stanley  Hewlett 

AUNT  LANE,  ROLLO'S  aunt Grace  Peters 

HORATIO  WEBSTER,  ROLLO'S  grandfather /.  M.  Kerrigan 

BELLA,  housemaid  at  the  Websters Elinor  Cox 


73GG11 


"ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT" 

CAST 
(In  order  of  their  appearance) 

HEWSTON Rollo's  Man 

LYDIA Rollo's  sister 

ROLLO  WEBSTER A  youth  ^vith  aspirations 

MR.  STEIN A  theatrical  manager 

GOLDIE  MACDUFF An  actress 

GEORGE  LUCAS An  actor 

MRS.  PARK-GALES  "1 

WHORTLEY  CAMPERDOWN    >  .All  of  the  profession 

THOMAS  SKITTERLING         J 

AUNT  LANE Rollo's  great-aunt 

HORATIO  WEBSTER Rollo's  grandfather 

BELLA  . ,  .  .  Housemaid  at  the  Webster's 


(Mrs.  Gales  and  Bella  can  double  in  the  play.  Also 
Horatio  Webster  and  either  Camperdown  or 
Skitterling.) 


ACT    I 

SCENE  i :  ROLLO'S  studio,  Central  Park  West,  New 

York  City. 

TIME:   Twelve  o'clock  on  a  morning  in  early  Spring. 
SCENE  2 :   The  same,  the  following  evening. 

ACT    II 

SCENE  i :  ROLLO'S  dressing  room,  the  Oddity  The 
atre. 
SCENE  2 :   On  the  stage,  that  very  moment. 

ACT    III 

SCENE  i :  Sitting  room,  GRANDFATHER  WEBSTER'S 

house,  Shclbrooke.    A  few  hours  later. 
SCENE  2 :   The  same,  the  following  morning. 


Rollo's  Wild  O 


r+4 
Ctl. 


ACT   I 

SCENE  i :  A  duplex  apartment:  a  large  studio,  with 
a  stairway,  practical,  and  balcony  which  runs 
across  rear  of  scene.  This  leads  to  ROLLO'S 
bedroom.  Below  is  swing  door  leading  into 
kitchenette.  The  room  is  artistically  furnished. 
Contains  a  baby  grand  piano  and  some  good 
chairs  and  a  table.  There  are  rugs  hanging  over 
the  balcony  and  some  tall  Japanese  jars  contain 
ing  artificial  cherry '  blossoms.  The  effect  of 
the  room  in  color  is  gold  and  blue,  and  it  is 
Japanese  in  character. 

AT  RISE:  On  curtain,  door-bell  buzzer.  Enter 
HEWSTON  from,  the  kitchenette,  pulling  on  his 
coat.  HEWSTON  is  a  very  superior  gentleman's 
gentleman — rather  melancholy  in  appearance. 
He  goes  to  door  R.C. — admits  LYDIA.  She  is  an 
attractive  girl  of  eighteen,  smartly  dressed.  She 
enters  briskly  as  though  she  had  a  right  to  be 
there. 

HEWSTON.    Really,  you  should  not  have  come  up. 
Miss  Lydia. 

LYDIA.     (L.  of  chair  R.  )    I  don't  know  what  you 
5 


6  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

mean,  Hewston,  saying  that  I  can't  come  up  to  my 
own  brother's  studio. 

HEWSTON.  (R.  of  chair  R.)  It's  only  that  I  had 
strict  orders,  Miss,  not  to  let  anybody  up. 

LYDIA.  Well,  a  sister  isn't  anybody,  Hewston — 
she  is  not  included  in  such  orders.  (LYDIA  lays  fur 
neckpiece  on  the  piano.)  Please  remember  that  in 
future.  Where  is  my  brother? 

HEWSTON.    Mr.  Rollo  is  not  up  yet,  Miss. 

LYDIA.    Not  up! 

HEWSTON.  He  was  out  late  last  night  and  he  said 
he  was  going  to  have  a  very  busy  day  and  didn't 
wish  to  be  disturbed  before  twelve. 

LYDIA.  (L.C.J  A  busy  day!  When  is  he  going 
to  begin  to  have  it?  You'd  better  wake  him  up, 
Hewston. 

HEWSTON.  No,  Miss.  I'm  getting  paid  to  carry 
out  Mr.  Rollo's  instructions  and  carry  them  out  I 
shall. 

LYDIA.  If  he  does  pay  you,  Hewston,  it  will  be 
out  of  the  money  Grandfather  gave  him  to  go  into 
business  with. 

HEWSTON.    As  to  that  I  can't  say,  Miss. 

LYDIA.  And  do  you  think  Grandfather  would 
have  given  him  the  money  if  he  had  thought  Mr. 
Rollo  was  going  to  leave  home  and  come  in  town  and 
take  a  studio  and  have  you — and  everything  ? 

HEWSTON.    As  to  that  I  can't  say,  Miss. 

LYDIA.  (Sits  C.R.  of  table  c.)  Grandfather  thinks 
it  was  a  dreadful  thing  for  you  to  do,  Hewston,  to 
leave  us  without  a  moment's  notice.  You  know  it's 
impossible  to  get  anyone  in  the  country  this  time  of 
year. 

HEWSTON.  Yes,  Miss.  Don't  think  I  have  it  so 
easy  here.  All  there  is  to  this  place  is  what  you  see, 
and  Mr.  Rollo's  bedroom  upstairs.  I've  got  no  place 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  7 

to  sit  when  he  has  callers  but  the  sink  in  the  kitchen 
ette.    (Buzz  kitchenette.) 

HEWSTON.     Mr.  Rollo's  tray. 

(Exit  HEWSTON   into   kitchenette.     LYDIA  goes  to 
piano  and  begins  to  play  briskly.) 

LYDIA.    (Singing) 

I  love  to  wander  in  the  spring, 
When  tiny  birds  are  darting  high, 
I  love  to  wander  in  the  spring, 
And  drink  my  fill — and  drink  my  fill — 
Of  sun  and  sky. 

(ROLLO  enters  in  dressing  gown  and  slippers.  He 
stands  on  balcony,  looking  down  at  LYDIA.  SJic 
looks  up.  ROLLO  is  a  rather  serious  young  man 
of  twenty-two  or  tiventy-three.) 

ROLLO.  If  you  love  to  wander  in  the  spring,  don't 
let  me  detain  you.  (Comes  down  stainvay.)  So 
I'm  not  safe  from  your  persecutions  even  here. 

LYDIA.  Hewston  said  you  were  going  to  have  a 
busy  day — I  thought  you'd  better  begin. 

ROLLO.    Always  thinking  of  others. 

LYDIA.  (L.C.  Leaving  piano  and  coming  to  him 
with  a  coaxing  smile)  Rollo,  please  don't  be  cross 
because  I  came. 

ROLLO.  (R.C.)  I'm  not  cross — the  utter  hope 
lessness  of  getting  away  from  my  family  depresses 
me,  that's  all.  I'll  feel  better  when  I've  had  some 
thing  to  eat. 

(HEWSTON  enters  with  tray.) 

HEWSTON.    Will  you  have  it  down  here,  sir? 
ROLLO.    (Sits  R.  of  table)    Yes.    Try  and  keep  as 
many  people  out  as  possible  while  I'm  eating  my 


8  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

breakfast,  will  you,  Hewston?  (As  HEWSTON  sets 
tray  on  table.) 

LYDIA.  (Sitting  L.  of  table)  It  wasn't  Hewston's 
fault  that  I  came  up,  Rollo.  He  told  me  not  to! 
But  I  told  the  elevator  man  you  expected  me. 

ROLLO.    I  hope  you  told  him  you  were  my  sister. 

LYDIA.    No,  I  didn't.    Should  I  have? 

ROLLO.  Hewston,  you'd  better  step  out  and  tell 
the  elevator  man  it  was  my  sister  that  came  up.  Just 
mention  it  casually,  you  know.  Don't  say  that's  why 
you  rang  for  him. 

HEWSTON.  Yes,  sir.  (Starts  R.  to  door.)  What 
shall  I  say  I  rang  for  him  to  come  up  for? 

ROLLO.  Oh,  anything.  Ask  him  why  the  service 
is  so  bad  at  night  when  he's  not  on.  That'll  please 
him. 

(HEWSTON  exits  up  R.) 

LYDIA.  (Eagerly)  Rollo,  please  tell  me.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  your  money  ? 

ROLLO.    How's  Grandfather? 

LYDIA.  He  misses  you  dreadfully,  Rollo,  and  so 
does  Toby.  Every  time  I  go  into  your  room  he 
growls  and  barks  so. 

ROLLO.  Grandfather?  Oh,  Toby — well,  why  do 
you  go  into  my  room? 

LYDIA.    Because  I  miss  you,  too. 

(HEWSTON  enters,  starts  for  kitchenette.) 

ROLLO.    Isn't  there  some  orange  marmalade  in  the 

place,  Hewston? 

HEWSTON.    I'll  see,  sir.     (Exits  into  kitchenette.) 
LYDIA.    Grandfather  gave  me  a  check  for  exactly 

the  same  amount  he  gave  you,  to  do  what  7  liked 

with — wasn't  it  dear  of  him? 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  9 

ROLLO.    Yes.    Have  you  got  it  with  you? 

LYDIA.    No.    Fortunately,  I  haven't. 

ROLLO.  Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  I  don't  need  it 
yet. 

LYDIA.  Rollo,  you're  really  going  to  begin  to  sow 
your  wild  oats,  aren't  you? 

ROLLO.  My  dear,  I  am  going  to  sow  just  one  oat. 
If  it  doesn't  turn  out  right,  I  shall  hand  myself  over 
to  Grandfather  and  become  interested  in 

HEWSTON.  (Who  has  entered  with  jam)  Orange 
marmalade,  sir. 

ROLLO.  Thank  you,  Hewston.  You  can  find  most 
anything  in  that  kitchenette,  if  you  take  the  trouble 
to  look. 

HEWSTON.  You  don't  even  have  to  trouble  to  look 
for  a  lot  of  things  in  there,  sir.  There's  mice,  too. 

ROLLO.    Thanks,  I  don't  care  for  any. 

LYDIA.    One  oat Tell  me  about  it,  Rollo. 

ROLLO.     How's  Aunt  Lane  ? 

LYDIA.    She's  well.    I  left  her  at  Wanamaker's. 

ROLLO.     Well,  I  hope  she  stays  there. 

(Phone  rings.) 

HEWSTON.  (At  phone)  Mr.  Stein — calling  by 
appointment. 

ROLLO.  (Importantly — rising)  Tell  him  to  come 
up. 

HEWSTON.  (Into  phone)  Mr.  Stein  can  come  up. 
(Exits.) 

ROLLO.  (To  LYDIA )  I  should  say  so — now  you've 
kept  me  talking  all  this  foolishness — I  don't  want 
to  see  him  in  this  dressing  gown. 

LYDIA.  (Coming  c.)  I'll  see  him.  I'll  tell  him 
you'll  be  right  down. 

ROLLO.     You  will  oblige  me  by  going  back  to 


io  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

Wanamaker's  at  once.  (He  hurriedly  exits  up  the 
stairs. ) 

LYDIA.    Hewston,  you'd  better  take  the  tray. 

HEWSTON.  (From  outside  in  kitchenette)  Just 
a  moment,  Miss. 

ROLLO.    (Off)    Hewston,  where  are  my  shoes? 

(HEWSTON,  emerging  from  kitchenette,  passes  rap 
idly  up  the  stairs  with  the  shoes,  containing  shoe 
trees.) 

HEWSTON.     Coming,  sir. 

LYDIA.  (After  a  moment's  hesitation,  goes  to 
piano.  Sings) 

"I  love  to  wander  in  the  spring, 
When  tiny  birds  are  darting  high. 

(Studio  bell.) 

I  love  to  wander  in  the  spring, 
And  drink  my  fill,  and  drink  my  fill 
Of  sun  and  sky." 

(Bell  rings  again.    LYDTA  goes  to  the  door  and  opens 
it,  admitting  MR.   STEIN.J 

LYDIA.    Come  right  in. 

STEIN.  (Going  R.c.J  I  am  calling  to  see  Mr. 
Webster. 

LYDIA.  (R.  of  STEINJ  Yes,  I  know.  I'm  his — 
er — secretary.  (She  laughs  a  little,  mischievously, 
then  is  serious.)  No,  I'm  not  really — I'm  his  sister. 

STEIN.  (Not  believing  her,  smiles)  I  am  Mr. 
Stein — Miss — er 

LYDIA.  WWt  you  take  off  your  coat  and  put  it 
somewhere  ? 

STEIN.     Thanks. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  11 

HEWSTON.     (Coming  down  the  stairs)     Let  me 
take  your  coat.     (Takes  STEIN'S  coat.) 
STEIN.    (To  HEWSTON)    Mr.  Webster? 
LYDIA.     (Giggling)     No,  that's  Hewston. 

^HEWSTON  exits  with  tray.) 

STEIN.    I  don't  know  him. 

LYDIA.  (Crossing  L.J  He's  our — oh,  well,  it 
doesn't  matter.  Do  sit  down.  I'll  sit  here.  (On 
piano  bench.)  Are  you  fond  of  music,  Mr.  Stein? 

(STEIN  follows  LYDIA  L.    Sits  L.  of  table.) 

STEIN.  I  don't  mind  it.  I  hear  so  much  of  it  in 
my  business  I've  got  used  to  it. 

LYDIA.    What  is  your  business,  Mr.  Stein  ? 

STEIN.     I  am  a  theatrical  manager. 

LYDIA.  A  theatrical  manager!  It's  a  wonderful 
business,  isn't  it?  To  be  able  to  make  so  much 
money  and  have  so  much  fun  at  the  same  time. 

STEIN.  (Looking  a  little  dubious)  Are  you  a 
professional,  Miss? 

LYDIA.  No,  not  yet.  My  grandfather  is  very 
much  opposed  to  the  stage. 

STEIN.    Oh,  you've  got  a  grandfather? 

LYDIA.    Yes,  haven't  you  ? 

STEIN.  I  suppose  I  had  one,  but  I  don't  know 
where  he  is. 

LYDIA.  I  wish  I  didn't  know  where  mine  was. 
(Both  laugh.)  Oh,  I  ought  not  to  say  that.  He's  a 
perfect  darling  at  times. 

(Enter  ROLLO  down  the  stairs  with  dignity.) 

ROLLO.     Mr.  Stein.     Lydia,  just  a  moment 

f  Takes  her  aside  R.c.j     Wanamaker's ! 


12  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

(LYDIA  takes  her  fur.  STEIN  bows.  LYDIA  makes 
a  feint  of  going  out,  but  slips  up  the  stairs  near 
the  door  and  goes  into  ROLLO'S  bedroom  un 
seen.) 

ROLLO.  Won't  you  smoke  ?  (Offering  cigarettes, 
which  STEIN  refuses.)  A  cigar?  (STEIN  assents. 
ROLLO  looks  for  cigars  in  desk  L.)  And  then  let's 
get  down  to  business. 

STEIN.  Yes,  that's  a  good  idea — because  I  haven't 
got  very  much  time.  (Goes  R.  of  table.) 

( ROLLO  finds  cigars.     STEIN   takes  one.     Bus.  of 
lighting.    STEIN  sits  R.  of  table.) 

STEIN.  I  was  interested  in  your  letter,  Mr.  Web 
ster,  because  it  is  just  between  seasons,  you  see,  and 
I  might  take  an  interest  in  something — if  it  was  all 
right. 

ROLLO.  (Puts  cigars  back  in  desk.  Going  L.  of 
table)  Well,  my  proposition  is  very  simple — no  rea 
son  why  we  shouldn't  understand  each  other  from 
the  start — if  you  are  interested,  all  right — and  if  you 
are  not,  all  right,  too. 

STEIN.  (Not  quite  pleased)  Well,  Mr.  Webster, 
the  first  thing  I  will  say  is — I've  been  in  this  busi 
ness  for  twenty  years  and  I  confess  I  don't  know 
anything  about  it. 

ROLLO.  (Sitting  L.  of  table)  I  see.  Well,  do 
you  think  that  is  a  good  thing? 

STEIN.  Well,  it  is  a  fact.  What  I  mean  to  say  is, 
if  I  knew  what  would  be  a  successful  play,  I'd  never 
put  on  anything  else,  but  I  don't  know.  Nobody 
knows. 

ROLLO.     (Politely)     I  see. 

STEIN.  It's  the  public.  You  can't  count  on  it 
Give  'em  something  good  and  they'll  go  to  see  some- 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  13 

thing1  bad.  Give  'em  something  bad  and  they  don't 
like  that  either. 

ROLLO.  I  see.  Well,  of  course,  there's  no  trouble 
about  my  play.  It's  a  great  play  and  the  critics  will 
all  like  it. 

STEIN.  That's  what  they  all  think,  Mr.  Webster. 
No  one  ever  wrote  a  bad  play  that  knew  it. 

ROLLO.  Well,  I  didn't  write  this  play,  and  when  I 
say  it's  good  I  mean  it's  a  play  the  critics  will  re 
spect — so  there'll  be  no  trouble  with  them.  They 
may  not  like  my  acting,  but  they  can't  find  fault  with 
the  play — at  least,  they  never  have. 

STEIN.  Oh,  it  has  been  played  before.  What  is 
the  name  of  it,  Mr.  Webster? 

ROLLO.    (Taking  a  cigarette)    Hamlet. 

(There  is  a  muttered  exclamation  and  light  glass 
crash  from  the  kitchenette.) 

STEIN.  Hamlet.  Do  you  think  anyone  wants  to 
see  it? 

ROLLO.  They  always  have.  It's  lived  all  these 
years. 

STEIN.  Lived — but  how?  You're  making  a  mis 
take,  Mr.  Webster.  If  you've  money  to  use  in  show 
business,  take  it  from  me,  let  Hamlet  alone. 

ROLLO.  No,  Mr.  Stein,  I  can't  let  Hamlet  alone, 
because  he  won't  let  me  alone. 

STEIN.    I'm  sorry  I  asked  Goldie  to  meet  me  here. 

ROLLO.    Who  is  Goldie  ? 

STEIN.  She's  a  little  girl  has  got  a  lot  of  talent, 
Mr.  Webster.  Dances  and  might  make  a  hit  in  a 
girl  show,  you  know. 

ROLLO.    (Thoughtfully)    Oh ! 

STEIN.    A  very  pretty  girl. 

ROLLO.  Well,  I'd  like  to  see  her.  I've  a  lot  of 
new  ideas  about  producing  the  play — it's  just  pos 
sible  I  might  use  her. 


I4  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

STEIN.  It  ain't  possible  there's  a  Hamlet  slipped 
by  me,  Mr.  Webster.  You're  speaking  of  the  old 
piece,  ain't  you,  that's  got  "To  be  or  not  to  be"  in  it  ? 

ROLLO.  Yes,  "To  be  or  not  to  be — whether  'tis 
better  .  .  ." 

STEIN.  (Rising)  I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Webster,  I  wish 
I  could  do  business  with  you,  but  I'm  a  man  that 
don't  like  to  see  anyone  throw  their  money  away. 
Money  is  hard  to  get. 

ROLLO.  Not  always.  (Phone  rings.  Enter  HEWS- 
TON  from  kitchenette.)  Hewston,  some  Scotch  and 
soda. 

HEWSTON.  (At  phone.  To  ROLLO )  It's  Miss 
MacDuff  calling. 

STEIN.     It  ain't  worth  while  to  let  her  up. 

ROLLO.  Oh,  yes,  if  you  don't  mind,  ask  her  to 
come  up. 

HEWSTON.  (Into  phone)  Let  the  young  lady 
come  up,  please.  (Exits  into  kitchenette.) 

ROLLO.    I  have  leased  a  theatre. 

STEIN.  You  have  leased  it?  What  theatre,  Mr. 
Webster? 

ROLLO.     The  Oddity. 

STEIN.    But  it  ain't  finished  yet. 

ROLLO.    It  will  be  when  I  get  in  it. 

STEIN.  (Crosses  to  table  and  sits  R.  of  table) 
What  are  those  new  ideas  you've  got  about  produc 
ing,  Mr.  Webster? 

ROLLO.    Well,  extreme  simplicity,  in  the  first  place. 

STEIN.  It's  been  done  to  death.  Unless  you've 
got  some  new  kind.  WThat  do  you  mean  by  sim 
plicity  ? 

ROLLO.  I  would  use  the  same  set  for  every  scene 
— just  throwing  on  different-colored  lights  to  give 
an  effect  of  ghastliness,  beauty,  morning  or  evening, 
as  the  case  might  be. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  15 

STEIN.    The  same  set  for  a  bedroom  or  a  jail? 

ROLLO.  Certainly.  The  text,  the  costumes,  the 
lights  tell  the  story. 

STEIN.  The  costumes?  People  have  gone  to  bed 
in  a  jail,  you  know,  if  they  are  unlucky  enough. 

ROLLO.  (Rising  and  crossing  to  R.  of  STEIN,)  I 
know,  but  you  never  saw  pink  boudoir  lights  in  a 
jail.  Then  I'd  like  to  see  a  flight  of  steps  leading 
down  into  the  audience — and  if  at  any  time  during 
the  play  some  gifted  auditor  was  moved  to  join  in 
the  performance,  I'd  like  to  allow  it.  I  don't  want 
to  be  separated  from  my  audience. 

STEIN.  It's  a  good  thing  to  be  separated  from 
them,  Mr.  Webster.  It  ain't  the  gifted  ones  usually 
that  want  to  join  in.  I'm  afraid  those  steps  would 
lead  to  a  general  rough-house,  especially  with  Ham 
let.  (HEWSTON  enters  with  Scotch  and  soda.)  Any 
more  ideas,  Mr.  \Vebster? 

ROLLO.  (Crossing  to  L.  of  table)  Yes.  With  my 
very  modern  methods — perfect  naturalness  and  sim 
plicity — I  would  like  to  combine  the  old  school  in 
the  other  actors.  Exemplifying  the  fact  that  Ham 
let  was  a  modern  spirit — surrounded  by  old  forms, 
old  customs  and  traditions.  All  but  Ophelia.  I 
would  have  her  just  such  a  one  as  myself. 

(Door-bell  buzzer,) 

STEIN.  (Rising)  You  mean,  have  the  part 
played  by  a  man? 

(HEWSTON  goes  to  door.) 

ROLLO.  No,  no.  But  modern,  you  know.  Simple 
and  natural. 

(HEWSTON   opens   door,   announcing) 


16  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

HEWSTON.    Miss  MacDuff. 

(Enter  GOLDIE.  She  is  a  girl  of  twenty-one  or  two, 
rather  timid  naturally,  but  brave  as  occasion 
may  require.  She  is  blond  and  has  an  expression 
of  arch  wistfulness.  She  is  dressed  in  a  plain 
blue  serge  tailor-made  suit.) 

STEIN.     How  do,  Goldie?    This  is  Mr.  \Vebster. 

GOLDIE.  I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you.  (Gives  him 
her  hand.) 

STEIN.  (Dropping  down  R.)  I  guess  I  got  you 
here  on  a  false  alarm,  Goldie. 

GOLDIE.    Really?    (Looking  anxiously  at  ROLLO  J 

STEIN.  Yes,  Mr.  Webster  is  going  to  play  Shakes 
peare. 

GOLDIE.     Shakespeare  ?    Oh 

ROLLO.  Does  that  mean  horror,  or  admiration,  or 
what? 

GOLDIE.  Why,  it  doesn't  mean  anything — only 
that  let's  me  out. 

STEIN.  If  you'd  Jave  come  into  my  office,  yester 
day,  I  could  have  put  you  into  a  nice  little  Revue — 
the  Midnight  Riot — a  supper  show,  good  money. 

GOLDIE.    You  know  I  can't  do  those  things. 

ROLLO.     Why? 

GOLDIE.  (Surprised,  looking  at  him)  It  sounds 
so  silly — I  get  sleepy  about  twelve  o'clock.  I'm  used 
to  going  to  bed  early. 

STEIN.  Ain't  that  ridiculous?  I  never  heard  any 
one  on  the  stage  talk  like  you,  Goldie.  It's  excite 
ment  keeps  you  awake — it's  temperament,  that's 
what  does  it.  Ain't  you  got  any? 

GOLDIE.  I  don't  believe  so.  I'm  relieved,  of 
course,  after  it's  over,  if  I  haven't  done  anything 
too  dreadful,  but  that's  all. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  17 

STEIN.  And  she's  just  made  for  it.  Ain't  it 
funny  ? 

(There  is  a  pause  and  ROLLO  looks  thoughtful.) 

GOLDIE.  I'm  afraid  we're  taking  Mr.  Webster's 
time. 

ROLLO.  No,  no,  not  at  all.  I  was  just  thinking- — 
(  GOLDIE  eyes  him  nervously.)  In  the  play  I'm  going 
to  do  there  is  a  very  sweet,  simple  young  girl,  un 
happy,  you  know — the  way  they  usually  are. 

GOLDIE.     Which  play  is  it,  Mr.  Webster? 

ROLLO.     Why — er — Hamlet ! 

GOLDIE.     Oh,  Hamlet! 

ROLLO.  Yes,  Hamlet — nothing  to  be  afraid  of, 
you  know.  It  was  just  his  name — just  the  way  Rollo 
is  mine. 

GOLDIE.     Of  course,  only 

ROLLO.     Only  what  ? 

GOLDIE.    Rollo  seems  so  different — so  much  nicer. 

ROLLO.  Awful  name.  I  wouldn't  have  had  it 
only  my  mother  was  so  fond  of  reading — tell  me,  do 
you  sing? 

GOLDIE.     Hardly  at  all. 

ROLLO.  Well,  that's  quite  enough.  Ophelia  goes 
mad,  you  know,  and  sings. 

GOLDIE.    Well,  I  might  do  that. 

STEIN.  Mr.  Webster,  excuse  rne.  Have  I  made  a 
mistake?  Is  this  the  old  Hamlet,  or  have  you  maybe 
made  some  changes  in  it  ?  Have  you  made  it  into  a 
musical  show? 

ROLLO.  No,  I  haven't.  Shakespeare  put  songs  in 
it  for  Ophelia.  Not  exactly  songs,  but  fragments. 

STEIN.     (Interested)     Fragments ! 

ROLLO.  I  would  like  to  hear  you  sing,  but  I  can't 
play  for  you. 


i8  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  I  can  play  for  myself.  But  I  don't 
really  think  there's  any  use  in  it,  do  you? 

ROLLO.  Yes.  I  don't  know  of  anything  more  im 
portant  in  the  world !  I  don't  think  this  piano  is 
very  good — but  it  has  all  the  keys  on  it — please, 
won't  you? 

( ROLLO  goes  to  piano.    He  plays  a  little.    STEIN  and 
GOLDIE  down  R.J 

STEIN.    I  believe  this  fellow's  a  nut.    You  know, 
this  show  he's  going  to  do  may  be  very  funny. 
GOLDIE.     (Softly,  reproachfully)     Oh,  Mr.  Stein  ! 

(  GOLDIE  goes  to  ROLLO.     STEIN  follows  and  sits  at 
table.) 

ROLLO.  (After  playing  a  feiv  chords.  Rising) 
Seems  to  be  all  right.  Hewston  must  have  oiled  it 
this  morning.  Sing  something  sad — something 
about  flowers- — memories  and  albums  and  old  for 
get-me-nots  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

GOLDIE.  (Sitting  at  piano)  Would  one  about 
roses  do? 

ROLLO.     Yes,  of  course  it  would — is  it  sad? 
GOLDIE.     Well — it's  quite  sad. 
ROLLO.     Good.     Go  ahead. 
GOLDIE.     (Begins  to  sing  softly) 

"Blushing  June  roses  to  you  I've  given — " 
(Stops)     No,  that's  wrong. 

ROLLO.     (Leaning  over  piano)    It's  beautiful — go 
on,  please  do. 
GOLDIE.     (Sings) 

"Blushing  June  roses,  breathing  of  Heaven, 
Dew  on  their  petals  like  tears,  ere  I  go, 
Blushing  June  roses  to  you  I've  given. 
They  tell  my  story — I  love  you  so." 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  19 

ROLLO.     Perfectly  beautiful. 

GOLDIE.    Oh,  no,  it  was  dreadful ! 

ROLLO.     It  wasn't — isn't  there  more  of  it? 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  yes,  that  was  just  the  refrain — but 
it's  enough,  I  should  think. 

ROLLO.     But  it  isn't — do  just  begin  it. 

GOLDIE.  I  can't — I  can't  sing — my  voice  is  all 
gone.  I've  been  crying.  (Rises.) 

ROLLO.  Crying  ?  Oh,  dear !  Well,  never  mind, 
you've  really  sung  quite  enough — your  voice  is  pa 
thetic. 

GOLDIE.    I  should  think  so. 

ROLLO.  Just  as  it  should  be.  I  know  you  can  do 
it.  You  shall  play  Ophelia. 

GOLDIE.  (Shocked — sits  on  piano  bench)  Oh, 
Mr.  Webster,  you  don't  really  mean  that? 

ROLLO.     I  certainly  do  mean  it. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  but  that  would  be  dreadful — why,  I 
couldn't  any  more  play  Ophelia ! 

ROLLO.     Why  not? 

GOLDIE.  Because  it's  a  great  part  and  some  one 
great  should  play  it. 

ROLLO.  Not  at  all.  Ophelia  wasn't  a  great  trage 
dienne  forty-five  years  old.  She  was  just  a  simple 
little  girl  like  you — she  fell  in  love  with  me.  That's 
all  you've  got  to  do.  I  mean,  you  can  play  Ophelia 
because  you're  young  and  pretty.  Is  your  hair 
long? 

GOLDIE.  (Rising)  Oh,  no,  I  couldn't,  Mr.  Web- 
ster.  Yes,  it  is  long. 

ROLLO.  (Turning  to  STEINJ  Well,  Mr.  Stein, 
Miss  MacDuff  is  just  what  I  want. 

STEIN.  (Who  has  been  enjoying  the  Scotch  and 
Soda.  Rising)  What? 

ROLLO.  For  Ophelia.  Now  about  the  rest  of  the 
cast,  if  you  want  to  go  on  with  it 


20  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

STEIN.  Well,  I'm  getting  quite  interested  in  your 
project,  Mr.  \Vebster. 

ROLLO.  Good !  Then  why  not  go  ahead  until 
something  stops  us?  I  don't  care  who  you  engage 
for  the  rest  of  the  cast  as  long  as  they're  regular 
Shakespearean  actors — but  they  must  have  had  ex 
perience. 

STEIN.  Well,  if  Shakespearean  actors  don't  have 
experiences  I  don't  know  who  does. 

ROLLO.  Suppose  you  bring  an  assortment  round 
here  to-morrow  night — it  might  be  as  well  for  me 
to  look  at  them  before  you  engage  them. 

STEIN.  Well,  that  couldn't  do  any  harm.  I'll 
think  it  over  a  little,  Mr.  Wrebster — and  let  you  know. 

ROLLO.  All  right.  There's  no  risk  in  it  for  you. 
you  know. 

(HEWSTON  comes  from  kitchenette  and  hovers  over 
tray  and  bottles.) 

STEIN.  That's  all  right,  but  I  don't  want  to  see 
you  lose  anything,  either. 

ROLLO.    Don't  worry  about  me. 

STEIN.  WTell,  I  think  we  may  as  well  be  going 
along.  We  had  a  very  pleasant  call,  anyway,  Mr. 
Webster. 

(HEWSTON  helps  STEIN  on  with  his  coat.    GOLDIE 
crosses  R.J 

ROLLO.  Won't  you  have  something?  (To  GOL 
DIE,  -who  casts  a  frightened  look  at  the  tray.) 

GOLDIE.    Oh,  ro,  nothing — I  never  do. 

ROLLO.    Just  plain  soda,  I  meant. 

GOLDIE.    No,  thank  you. 

STEIN.  You  will  hear  from  me.  Coming,  Gol- 
die?  (  GOLDIE  crosses  R.) 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  21 

ROLLO.  (To  GOLDIE,)  Must  you  go  ?  Won't  you 
let  Hewston  make  you  a  cup  of  tea? 

GOLDIE.  (Crossing  two  steps)  No,  thank  you, 
Mr.  Webster. 

ROLLO.  Well,  you'll  come  to-morrow  night,  won't 
you? 

GOLDIE.  I  will  if— I'll  try  to,  Mr.  Webster. 
(Crosses  two  steps  more.) 

ROLLO.     Can't  I  call  for  you? 

GOLDIE.    No.    Oh,  no.    Good-bye. 

(STEIN  and  GOLDIE  exit,  the  door  being  held  open 
•for  them  patiently  by  HEWSTON.  ROLLO  goes 
to  piano  and  tries  to  play  GOLDIE' s  song.) 

ROLLO.    (Singing) 

"Blushing  June  roses  to  you  I've  given " 

(READY  studio  bell) 

HEWSTON.  (Coming  L.C.)  Pardon  me,  sir,  but 
would  it  be  convenient  for  you  for  me  to  go  for  a 
walk  in  the  park? 

ROLLO.  Certainly.  (Playing,  sings  again)  "La  ta 
ta,  ta  ta  ta,  tears — ere  I  go " 

HEWSTON.  I  think  it  would  rest  me  to  spend  an 
hour  in  the  Zoo. 

ROLLO.  All  right,  Hewston.  If  you  can  rest  in 
the  Zoo,  you  must  need  it.  What's  the  trouble  ?  Do 
you  have  to  work  too  hard  ? 

HEWSTON.  I'm  not  complaining  about  the  work, 
sir.  It's  the  kitchenette.  A  man  can't  be  shut  up  in 
that  place  and  keep  his  self-respect. 

ROLLO.     Can't  you  sit  up  in  my  bedroom? 

HEWSTON.  No,  sir.  I  can't  be  running  up  and 
down  the  stairs  every  time  you  call  me. 

ROLLO.    Well,  the  only  other  place  I  can  suggest 
is  under  the  piano.     (Continues  song) 
"Blushing  June  roses " 


22  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

(A  hurried  ring  at  door.  HEWSTON  goes,  opens  it 
and  admits  GOLDIE.  HEWSTON  returns  to 
kitchenette.) 

GOLDIE.  (Agitated)  Oh,  Mr.  Webster,  do  please 
forgive  me  for  coming  back. 

ROLLO.  (Rising)  Forgive  you?  WThy,  I'm  per 
fectly  delighted  to  see  you.  I've  missed  you  ter 
ribly.  I  was  just  playing  the  music  for  your  en 
trance  when  you  came  in — did  you  hear  me? 

GOLDIE.  (R.  of  table)  It's  very  hard  for  me  to 
tell  you  why  I  came  back,  Mr.  Webster. 

ROLLO.  CL.  of  table)  Then  why  do  it?  Suppose 
we  say  you  came  back — because  I  was  wishing  that 
you  would — and  wishing  that  I  had  asked  for  your 
telephone  number.  Have  you  got  one? 

GOLDIE.  No,  Mr.  Webster — the  man  in  the  drug 
store  gives  me  messages  if  they  are  important. 

ROLLO.  The  man  in  the  drug  store  ?  Well — does 
he  decide  whether  they're  important  or  not? 

GOLDIE.    Yes. 

ROLLO.    And  what  is  the  name  of  the  drug  store? 

GOLDIE.  It's  Riddle's  drug  store — Chelsea  4321. 
But  don't  let's  speak  of  such  things  at  a  time  like 
this,  Mr.  Webster. 

ROLLO.  A  time  like  this  ?  Is  this  some  sort  of  a 
time? 

GOLDIE.     Oh,  indeed — indeed  it  is! 

(Enter  HEWSTON  with  hat.    Starts  for  door  R.) 

ROLLO.  Good  Heavens — then  we'd  better  fortify 
ourselves  for  it.  Hewston,  some  tea. 

(HEWSTON  goes  into  kitchenette  very  dejectedly.) 
GOLDIE.    (Sits  R.  of  table)    Oh,  I  had  to  come  to 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  23 

tell  you — to  beg  you — please,  Mr.  Webster,  don't 
go  on  with  it. 

ROLLO.    Don't  go  on  with  it? 

GOLDIE.  He's  going  to  do  it — he  said  so,  on  the 
way  down  in  the  elevator. 

ROLLO.    But  I'm  glad  he  is — I  expected  him  to. 

GOLDIE.  But  you  don't  know  him  as  I  do — it 
isn't  because  he  thinks  it  will  be  good. 

ROLLO.     Of  course  not. 

GOLDIE.  It  is  just — just  to  get  your  money.  He 
thinks,  if  it  does  succeed,  it  will  be  because  it  is  so 
bad. 

ROLLO.  Never  mind  what  he  thinks — I  wouldn't 
even  accuse  him  of  such  a  thing. 

GOLDIE.  But  do  you  realize  what  he  is?  He's 
not  a  good  manager  at  all,  Mr.  Webster. 

ROLLO.  Of  course  not.  No  good  manager  would 
have  anything  to  do  with  me. 

GOLDIE.  And  I  am  nothing  at  all,  Mr.  Webster. 
I  don't  suppose  there  is  a  worse  actress  in  the  world. 
(Enter  HEWSTON  with  tea  tray  and  service.)  I'm 
terribly  afraid,  in  the  first  place — my  mouth  dries 
up  and  I  want  to  run  right  off  the  stage.  (HEWS 
TON  serves  tea.) 

ROLLO.  Will  you  have  lemon  or  cream — cream,  I 
think,  is  better  for  you — it's  more  soothing.  (Nods 
to  HEWSTON.  HEWSTON  exits  for  cream.) 

GOLDIE.  I  do  wish  you  would  save  yourself  from 
us.  Mr.  Webster,  before  it  is  too  late. 

ROLLO.  (Getting  book  of  "Hamlet"  from  piano) 
I'm  going  to  lend  this  to  you— so  you  can  read  over 
the  part  of  Ophelia. 

GOLDIE.     Please  don't 

ROLLO.  You  won't  mind  when  you  see  how  much 
Ophelia  is  like  you.  She's  afraid  and  everything. 

GOLDIE.  I  know — I  know  what  you  mean.  Don't 
make  me,  please.  I  know  the  part  perfectly  well. 


24  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

(Enter  HEWSTON — pours  cream  in  tea.) 

ROLLO.  (Sits  L.  of  table,  surprised)  You  know 
it? 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  yes.  My  grandmother  made  me 
learn  all  those  parts — Juliet  and  Desdemona  and 
Rosalind  and  Ophelia — 

ROLLO.  She  did?  What  a  wonderful  grand 
mother. 

GOLDIE.  Yes,  she  was  wonderful,  Mr.  Webster. 
Perhaps  you've  heard  of  her.  They  called  her  the 
"Beautiful  Mary  Mowe." 

(HEWSTON  drops  pitcher  on  tray.) 
ROLLO.     I  never  did.     My  fault,  I'm  sure. 

(HEWSTON  shows  surprise  and  interest.     He  sets 
pitcher  on  tray,  making  a  little  clatter.) 

GOLDIE.  She  was  a  great  actress.  My  mother 
went  on  the  stage,  too,  in  England.  She  wasn't  suc 
cessful  at  all,  and  I  am  even  worse.  Poor  grand 
mother — it  ruined  her  life  to  think  we  didn't  inherit 
it,  you  know. 

(HEWSTON  exits  into  kitchenette.) 

ROLLO.    But  how  do  you  know  you  didn't  ? 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  Mr.  Webster — how  do  we  know 
anything?  I'm  simply  awful  on  the  stage.  I'm  not 
so  bad  off — you  see  I'm  not.  (Taking  the  teacup.) 
I  can  lift  up  a  cup  and  everything — but  on  the  stage 
my  hands  take  the  strangest  shapes — my  feet  don't 
look  the  same.  Don't  let  me  do  it. 

ROLLO.  (Greatly  interested)  My  dear  child,  I 
don't  care  what  you  may  or  may  not  have  been. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  25 

You  will  find  that  playing-  Ophelia  with  me  is  quite 
different  from  anything  you  have  ever  imagined. 
(Enter  HEWSTON  again  with  hat.  Crosses  to  door 
R.)  You're  not  drinking  your  tea.  Isn't  it  right  ? 

GOLDIE.  (Sadly)  Oh,  yes.  I'm  sure  it's  de 
licious. 

ROLLO.  I  know  what's  the  matter  with  it — it 
needs  some  cookies.  Hewston,  order  up  some  of 
those  cookies — the  nutty  ones. 

HEWSTON.  They  never  send  up  the  nutty  ones, 
sir. 

ROLLO.    Get  them  yourself. 

(HEWSTON  exits  door  R.) 

GOLDIE.    I  don't  want  them,  truly. 

ROLLO.  Wait  till  you  see  them.  They  look  like 
Mount  Fujiama,  all  exploding  in  beautiful  almonds 
in  the  middle. 

(  GOLDIE  rises.    ROLLO  anxiously  follows  suit.) 

GOLDIE.  Well,  that's  all,  Mr.  Webster.  I  can't  do 
any  more  than  warn  you.  I  must  go.  (Starts  R.) 

ROLLO.  (Crosses  to  her)  Let  me  get  a  cab  and 
take  you  home. 

GOLDIE.  No,  no,  thank  you — I  live  way  down 
town. 

ROLLO.    I  was  going  way  down  town,  anyway. 

GOLDIE.    Oh,  not  as  far  as  I  go,  I'm  sure. 

ROLLO.     What  street  is  it? 

GOLDIE.    Eighth  Street. 

ROLLO.  I  was,  though — I  was  going  to  Seventh 
Street. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  Mr.  Webster,  what  were  you  going 
to  Seventh  Street  for?  Why,  there  are  only  funny 
little  shops  there. 

ROLLO.     I  know  it.     I  was  going  to  one  of  those 


26  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

funny  little  shops  to  buy  some  of  that  funny  old 
stuff — what  do  you  call  it  ? 

GOLDIE.    What  do  you  do  with  it? 

ROLLO.  Well,  you  decide  that  after  you  get  it. 
I  was  going-  really.  I  can  prove  it — look,  here's  my 
hat  and  stick.  (Gets  them  from  R.  of  staircase.) 
Please  ? 

GOLDIE.  No,  Mr.  Webster,  I  can't  believe  that 
you  were  going  down  to  Seventh  Street  for  any 
thing. 

ROLLO.  Well,  could  you  believe  I  was  going  down 
to  Forty-second  Street  and  Broadway? 

GOLDIE.     Yes. 

ROLLO.     Then  we'll  go  there. 

GOLDIE.    And  I  can  take  the  subway. 

ROLLO.  Yes,  won't  that  be  jolly?  I'll  dash  down 
and  get  a  cab  on  the  street.  Takes  the  starter  hours 
to  do  it.  I'll  be  right  back  for  you. 

(  ROLLO  goes  out,  closing  door  with  a  brisk  slam, 
LYDIA,  upstairs,  thinking  they  are  both  gone, 
sings.  GOLDIE  stands  by  fireplace.) 

LYDIA. 

"I  love  to  wander  in  the  spring " 

(Enters  from  ROLLO'S  bedroom  upstairs  and  comes 
out  on  balcony  singing.     Sees  GOLDIE.) 

LYDIA.     Oh!     Mercy!     (Exits  hastily  back  into 
bedroom,  closing  door,) 
GOLDIE.    Oh !    Mercy ! 

(  GOLDIE  stands  dejectedly  for  a  moment.  HEWSTON 
enters  with  cookies  on  a  plate.  He  offers  them 
to  GOLDIE,  who  refuses  them  without  speak 
ing.) 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  27 

HEWSTON.  They're  the  nutty  ones,  Miss.  (He 
sets  cookies  on  the  table.)  If  you'll  excuse  my  say 
ing  so,  Miss,  I  heard  you  mention  your  grandmother, 
the  beautiful  Mary  Mowe. 

GOLDIE.     Yes  ? 

HEWSTON.  What  would  you  say,  Miss,  if  I  was 
to  tell  you  that  my  father  acted  with  her? 

GOLDIE.    Your  father?    What  was  his  name? 

HEWSTON.  Hewston,  Miss,  the  same  as  mine — 
only  he  was  Eustace  and  I  am  James. 

GOLDIE.  (Surprised)  Eustace  Hewston — why,  he 
was  almost  as  great  as  Grandma. 

HEWSTON.  Yes,  Miss.  That  was  him.  And  I 
was  raised  to  follow  in  his  footsteps.  But  what  was 
the  use?  There  was  no  call  for  acting  in  London. 
Only  in  the  Provinces.  That  was  the  only  place 
they  would  stand  for  Shakespeare. 

GOLDIE.  Are  you  sorry,  Hewston  ?  I  mean  would 
you  have  been  happier,  do  you  think,  acting  Shakes 
peare? 

HEWSTON.  Who  can  say,  Miss?  I  would  like  to 
have  played  Hamlet  just  once.  But  I  might  not 
have  been  any  happier  if  I  had.  There's  a  great 
many,  Miss,  that  wishes  to  play  that  part.  I  some 
times  think  Shakespeare  has  a  great  deal  to  answer 
for,  in  the  general  discontent  among  the  laboring 
classes. 

(Enter  ROLLO.) 

ROLLO.  All  ready — I've  got  a  beautiful  cab  all 
lined  with  royal  purple — on  to  Forty-second  Street! 

(HEWSTON  exits  into  kitchenette.) 
GOLDIE.    Mr.  Webster,  I've  changed  my  mind. 


28  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

ROLLO.  (Hopefully)  Really?  On  to  Eighth 
Street? 

GOLDIE.  No!  I  don't  want  you  to  go  with  me 
at  all. 

ROLLO.    Oh — do  you  really  mean  that? 

GOLDIE.  Yes,  I  do.  Please  let  me  go  by  myself. 
I'm  used  to  it. 

ROLLO.  But  I'm  not.  I  never  let  you  go  by  your 
self  but  once — and  then  I  tried  to  stop  you.  What's 
the  matter?  How  can  you  have  taken  such  a  dislike 
to  me  just  since  I've  been  downstairs? 

GOLDIE.  I  haven't  taken  a  dislike  to  you — but  I 
want  to  go  by  myself. 

(Enter  HEWSTON.) 

ROLLO.  (Hurt)  Oh,  very  well,  then.  Will  you 
at  least  ride  in  my  cab? 

GOLDIE.  (Crosses  to  R.  of  ROLLO)  I'd  rather 
not. 

ROLLO.  Will  you  let  Hewston  put  you  on  your 
subway  ? 

GOLDIE.     It's  not  necessary,  truly. 

ROLLO.     I  suppose  I'll  never  see  you  again. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  yes,  to-morrow  night.  If  you 
really  want  me  for  the  part. 

ROLLO.    Oh — can  I  really  have  you  if  I  want  you? 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  yes,  I  couldn't  afford  to  refuse  a 
part.  But  I  think  it's  better  to  be  quite  independent 
—I  mean  about  going  home  and  things  like  that — 
don't  you  ? 

ROLLO.  I  think  it's  awful — but  you  won't  always 
feel  the  way  you  do — I'm  sure  you  won't.  Perhaps 
even  by  the  time  you  get  downstairs  you'll  feel  dif 
ferently  about  it.  If  you  do,  telephone  up  and  I'll 
come  right  down. 

GOLDIE.     Good-bye ! 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  29 

ROLLO.     Good-bye. 

(Exit  GOLDIE.) 

HEWSTON.    Shall  I  dismiss  the  cab,  sir? 
ROLLO.    Yes,  or  take  it  to  the  Zoo. 
HEWSTON.    Thank  you,  sir. 

(Exit  HEWSTON  door  R.     Enter  LYDIA  down  the 
stairway.) 

ROLLO.  (Seeing  her — crosses  in  front  of  table.) 
What  are  you  doing-  here  ?  Sneak ! 

LYDIA.    I'm  not.    I'm  just  a  loving-  anxious  sister. 

ROLLO.  That's  the  same  thing.  You've  been  up 
there  all  the  time? 

LYDIA.  Well — after  I  started  being  up  there  I 
couldn't  stop.  Unless  I  jumped  out  the  window. 
(Coming  down  to  R.  of  table.) 

ROLLO.     Spying  on  me! 

LYDIA.  I  wouldn't  have  done  it,  Rollo,  but  my 
life  is  so  uninteresting.  And  I  had  no  idea  that 
anyone  was  coming  but  Mr.  Stein,  when  I  started 
sneaking. 

ROLLO.     Neither  had  I. 

LYDIA.  I  know  it,  Rollo.  And  then  she  came — 
your  wild  oat. 

ROLLO.    What  do  you  mean — my  wild  oat? 

LYDIA.    Is  she  pretty? 

ROLLO.  Yes,  she  is.  But  there's  nothing  wild- 
oatlike  about  her.  She  wouldn't  even  let  me  take 
her  to  the  subway  in  a  cab. 

LYDIA.  She  was  right,  Rollo.  Actresses  have  to 
be  awfully  careful  of  their  reputations.  Oh,  Rollo, 
if  I  could  only  be  like  her. 

ROLLO.     Don't  be  foolish. 

LYDIA.    But  why  is  it  foolish?    Oh,  Rollo,  won't 


30  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

you  please  let  me  be  in  it  ?  Oh,  please,  Rollo,  I'll  do 
anything  for  you  if  you  will? 

ROLLO.  My  poor  child,  have  a  cookie,  your  mind 
seems  to  be  quite  unhinged. 

LYDIA.  I  don't  want  it.  Rollo,  why  can't  I?  I 
must  have  some  talent,  I'm  your  sister. 

ROLLO.  You  know  what  I'm  going  to  play,  don't 
you? 

LYDIA.    Hamlet. 

ROLLO.  Yes.  What  would  you  like  to  be  ?  Wrhat 
do  you  think  nature  has  fitted  you  for,  in  the 
tragedy  of  Hamlet? 

LYDIA.  I  don't  know.  I'd  be  willing  to  be  any 
thing — just  to  have  some  fun  like  the  rest  of  you. 

ROLLO.  Fun !  You  don't  suppose  we're  doing  it 
for  fun! 

LYDIA.  Well,  what  are  you  doing  it  for?  No 
cne  wants  you  to  do  it. 

ROLLO.  I'm  doing  it  because  it's  been  my  life 
long  ambition. 

LYDIA.  (Coaxing)  Isn't  there  just  some  little 
part  I  could  play? 

ROLLO.     No — there  aren't  any  little  parts. 

LYDIA.  I  know  there  are — there  always  are. 
People  just  come  on  and  then  you  never  see  them 
again.  I'd  be  willing  to  be  one  of  those.  Rollo, 
I'm  your  only  little  sister.  Suppose  anything  should 
happen  to  me ;  then  you'd  be  sorry. 

ROLLO.  Yes,  I  would.  And  I  can  at  least  see 
this  doesn't  happen  to  you. 

LYDIA.  (Her  manner  changing.  Sits  R.  of  table.) 
I  can't  promise  that  I  won't  tell  Grandfather  the 
whole  thing,  then.  If  it's  so — debasing,  I  don't 
think  you  ought  to  do  it. 

ROLLO.  If  you  tell  Grandfather  before  the  open 
ing  performance  I  shall  never  speak  of  you  as  being 
my  sister  again. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  31 

LYDIA.  That  won't  matter.  Everyone  knows  I 
am. 

ROLLO.  (Weakening)  There's  only  one  part  you 
could  possibly  play  and  you  certainly  wouldn't  want 
to  do  that. 

LYDIA.     I'd  love  to — who  is  it? 

ROLLO.  One  of  the  players  who  comes  to  an 
nounce  the  play  that  they  play  in  the  play. 

LYDIA.     Will  you  let  me  do  it,  Rollo? 

ROLLO.  It's  a  part  that  requires  wearing  tights. 
(Glancing  at  LYDIA  to  see  the  effect.)  You  wouldn't 
mind  that,  I  suppose? 

LYDIA.  No,  Rollo.  Not  in  Shakespeare.  Oh, 
my  dear,  darling  brother !  What  is  my  name  in 
the  play  ? 

ROLLO.  Your  name  is  Prologue,  and  all  you  have 
to  say  is  "For  us  and  for  our  tragedy,  here  stoop 
ing  to  your  clemency,  we  beg  your  hearing  pa 
tiently." 

LYDIA.  (Rising)  Oh,  Rollo,  you  have  made  me 
so  happy.  (Embracing  him.) 

ROLLO.  Well,  it  was  quite  unintentional,  Lyd,  be 
lieve  me. 

CURTAIN 


ACT   I 

SCENE  2:  The  same — at  eight-thirty  the  following 

evening. 

ON  RISE:  STEIN,  CAMPERDOWN,  MRS. 
PARK-GALES,  SKITTERLING  and  HEWSTON  dis 
covered. 

HEWSTON  at  the  phone.  The  others  waiting 
for  ROLLO. 

HEWSTON.  (Speaking  into  phone)  Yes,  sir, 
they've  begun  to  come  in.  Quite  a  few  are  here,  sir. 
Mot  Miss  MacDuff— not  yet,  sir.  (To  the  people 
assembled)  Mr.  Webster  says,  if  you'll  please  make 
yourselves  quite  at  home,  he'll  be  here  directly. 
(Goes  into  hall  R.,  where  he  stands  ready  to  open 
door.) 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  (Seated  L.  of  table,  to  SKIT 
TERLING,  who  is  standing  above  table  with  CAMP- 
ERDOWN)  Mr.  Skitterling — who  is  this  Rollo  Web 
ster? 

SKITTERLING.     (Shrugs)    Ask  Mr.  Stein. 

CAMPERDOWN.     Who  is  Mr.  Stein? 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  (To  STEIN,  who  is  seated  in 
chair  by  fireplace  R.J  Mr.  Stein — tell  me  about 
Rollo  Webster. 

STEIN.  (Comes  to  her)  Certainly,  Mrs.  Gales. 
What  shall  I  tell  you? 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.     Well — who  is  he?    Has  he 

talent?     Has  he 

32 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  33 

STEIN.  I  don't  know.  But  he  has  a  grandfather 
— old  Horatio  Webster,  the  air-brake  man. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  (Impressed)  Oh,  Horatio 
Webster !  He  was  a  great  first  nighter.  I  think  I've 
heard  my  grandmother  speak  of  him. 

(Enter  LUCAS.    HEWSTON  takes  his  hat.) 

LUCAS.     Thanks.     (Comes  down  R.c.j 

STEIN.  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Park-Gales,  Mr.  Lu 
cas? 

LUCAS.  (Crosses  L.  to  MRS.  PARK-GALES.  MR. 
STEIN  drops  down  R.)  Don't  insult  me,  Mr.  Stein. 
Of  course  I  do. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Why,  George,  I  thought  you 
were  playing  in  Detroit,  at  that  new  theatre,  the 
Art  Craft. 

LUCAS.  No,  my  dear  lady,  I'm  not.  We  re 
hearsed  for  three  weeks,  but  they  decided  to  turn 
it  into  a  picture  house.  A  great  deal  of  craft  and 
very  little  art. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  How  horrible.  The  "Mov 
ies" 

STEIN.  Pictures  are  a  great  business.  You  take 
a  picture  and  you  got  something. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.     Yes,  but  what? 

STEIN.  You  get  all  through  with  the  actors  and 
there  they  are  playing  for  you  every  night.  If  they 
are  sick  or  dead,  it  don't  make  any  difference.  They 
are  working  just  the  same. 

(Bell.) 
LUCAS.    Anything  to  make  us  work  for  nothing! 

(Joins  CAMPERDOWN  and  SKITTERLING.  They  cross 
to  window-seat  L.  and  sit.  Studio  buzzer. 
HEWSTON  admits  GOLDIE.  HEWSTON  takes  her 


34  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

cloak  and  GOLDIE  goes  to  chair.    She  has  her 
little  book  of  "Hamlet.") 

STEIN.     (Standing  back  of  table)     Hello,  Goldie. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  (Softly  to  STEIN,)  Who  is 
that? 

STEIN.    Miss  MacDufF. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  I  don't  know  her.  What  is 
she  going  to  play  ? 

STEIN.  Well,  what  do  you  suppose?  There's  only 
two  lady  parts  in  the  play,  ain't  there?  My  office- 
boy  was  reading  it  and  that's  all  he  could  find. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  She  looks  very  young  to  play 
Ophelia. 

STEIN.    Yes?    Was  Ophelia  old? 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  No  one  but  an  experienced 
actress  should  attempt  it. 

STEIN.  Well,  Mr.  Webster  is  backing  the  show 
and  he  wants  this  lady  foT'lbphelia. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.     I  see.     What  a  pity! 

STEIN.  I'll  introduce  you.  (Goes  to  GOLDIE. ) 
Goldie,  I  want  you  to  meet  the  Queen.  (Introduc 
ing.)  Mrs.  Park-Gales,  Miss  MacDuff. 

GOLDIE.  (Crosses  to  R.  of  table)  I  am  very  glad 
to  meet  you. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  How  do  you  do,  my  dear? 
I'm  so  interested  to  hear  that  you  are  going  to  play 
Ophelia. 

GOLDIE.     (Sits)    Yes?    Why,  Mrs.  Gales? 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Because  it  is  my  favorite 
role.  Was,  I  should  say — for  I've  not  played  the 
part  for  some  years. 

GOLDIE.  Did  you  really  enjoy  playing  it,  Mrs. 
Gales? 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  I  did.  I 
lived  and  breathed  and  was  Ophelia.  I  used  to  be 
have  very  strangely  in  my  dressing-room  after  the 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  35 

performance.    Especially  if  there  were  flowers  about. 
GOLDIE.     (Sympathetically)     Oh,  dear,  I  hope  I 
won't 

(Enter  ROLLO.    HEWSTON  takes  his  coat  and  stick. 
ROLLO  wears  dinner  coat.)  '-V'-'..  .V\'. 

ROLLO.  Good  evening,  everybody.  Sorry  I'm 
late. 

( LUCAS,  CAMPERDOWN  and  SKITTERLING  rise  and 
cross  to  L.  of  c.) 

STEIN.  (Introducing  them)  Well,  Mr.  Webster, 
here  I  am  with  the  troupe.  Mr.  Webster — Mr. 
Camperdown,  Skitterling  and  Lucas — Mrs.  Park- 
Gales. 

ROLLO.  (Bowing  to  the  ladies)  Mrs.  Gales — and 
Miss  MacDuff  I've  met.  (To  GOLDIE)  How  have 
you  been?  Never  mind,  you  needn't  tell  me.  (To 
STEINJ  Camperdown  for  Polonius  and  Skitterling 
for  the  King? 

STEIN.    You  guessed  it,  Mr.  Webster — and  Lucas 

/^t*Tl'^***1*l4*t?C*"«*fe   CH.AJU-4.  • 

is  Upnelia  s  brotner:      /  /  .jxx-£^ 

LLO.     We  4&rir  3o  much  with  just  these,  you 
•—you  haven't  even  got  a  ghost. 

STEIN.  Don't  you  be  worried,  Mr.  Webster — we 
will  have  a  dandy  ghost  Monday.  I  can  even  tell 
you  before  the  evening  is  over,  when  we  will  open. 

ROLLO.  Well,  we  won't  open  before  we're  ready, 
I  suppose. 

STEIN.  Why  not?  These  people  all  know  their 
parts.  There's  no  use  going  over  them  just  for  their 
enjoyment.  I  was  talldng  to  George  Lucas,  and  I 
could  hardly  stop  him  from  reciting  the  whole  play 
from  the  beginning. 

(Bell.    Enter  LYDIA  admitted  by  HEWSTON. ) 


36  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

LYDIA.  Rollo!  (ROLLO  goes  to  her  and  leads  her 
down  R.,  so  they  will  not  be  heard.  GOLDIE  observes 
covertly  and  appears  to  be  absorbed  in  her  book.) 
Rollo,  Aunt  Lane  is  downstairs. 

ROLLO.    Why  is  she?    Have  you  toM  her? 

LYDIA.  Yes — she  says  the  sooner  we  do  it  the 
better,  and  get  it  over  with.  She'll  be  our  friend 
against  Grandfather. 

ROLLO.  Does  she  know  I  don't  want  anyone  to 
know  you're  related  to  me? 

LYDIA.  Yes.  We  practiced  my  name  in  the  cab — 
she  wouldn't  let  me  come  without  her. 

ROLLO.  It  wasn't  necessary  for  you  to  come.  I 
kept  trying  to  tell  you  that  all  through  dinner. 

LYDIA.    (Starting  to  cry)     I  thought  you  did. 

ROLLO.  Don't  cry  now  and  I'll  introduce  you  to 
an  actor.  (To  LUCASJ  Mr.  Lucas,  Miss  Julie  Bou- 
ton.  ( LUCAS  pleased  to  meet  her.  Takes  LYDIA  to 
stairway.  LYDIA  cheers  up  at  once.  ROLLO  speak? 
to  HEWSTON)  Hewston,  ask  Miss  Lane  to  come 
up. 

GOLDIE.  (Coming  to  ROLLO)  Mr.  Webster,  1 
don't  really  feel  that  I  ought  to  go  on  with  it.  I 
think  you  must  see  how  different  I  am  from  the 
rest  of  them — how  out  of  place. 

ROLLO.     Well,  so  am  I. 

GOLDIE.  What  a  pity  that  Mrs.  Park-Gales  isn't 
yourg  any  more,  so  she  could  play  "Ophelia." 

ROLLO.  Yes.  What  a  pity  Methuselah  died.  He 
might  be  playing  Hamlet  instead  of  me. 

GOLDIE.    Why  not  let  Miss  Bouton  play  my  part  ? 

ROLLO.  Julie?  Oh,  she  can't  play  anything.  She 
wanted  to  be  in  it  more — well — to  see  what's  going 
on.  You  see  she's — well,  you  know — she's  a  sweet 
little  thing — but  she's  really  an  awful  nuisance. 

GOLDIE.     Oh — I  see.     But  I  suppose  she  wasn't 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  37 

always  a  nuisance,  was  she?  (Bell.  Enter  AUNT 
LANE.) 

ROLLO.  Just  a  moment.  Don't  move — I'll  be  right 
back.  (Crosses  to  AUNT  LANE.) 

AUNT  LANE.  Well,  Rollo,  this  is  very  nice  of 
you,  to  let  me  come  in  upon  you  unexpectedly.  How 
are  you  getting  on  ? 

ROLLO.  Why,  I  was  getting  on  very  well.  I 
don't  know  just  what  to  do  about  introducing  you 
to  these  people. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Condescendingly  but  pleasantly) 
Why,  certainly,  Rollo.  I  don't  mind  meeting  them 
in  the  least.  (Sits  wing  chair  R.  STEIN  goes  c., 
back  of  group.) 

GOLDIE.  (Approaching)  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Web 
ster.  But  I  think  I'd  better  go,  really. 

ROLLO.  No,  I  will  not  excuse  you,  Miss  Mac- 
Duff — my  Aunt  Lane.  (Going  to  the  introducing 
heavily.)  Mr.  Stein,  my  Aunt  Lane.  Mrs.  Park- 
Gales,  Aunt  Lane — don't  go,  please,  Miss  MacDuff. 
I  wish  to  speak  to  you — and — Mr.  Skitterling  and 
Mr.  Camperodwn,  Aunt  Lane.  (Glancing  anxiously 
in  GOLDIE' s  direction)  Mr.  Lucas,  Aunt  Lane. 

(SKITTERLING,  CAMPERDOWN  and  LUCAS  cross  and 
bow  c.  and  go  up  L.C.  LUCAS  goes  up  to  LYDIA. 
ROLLO  goes  to  GOLDIE.  STEIN  L.  of  AUNT 
LANE.) 

AUNT  LANE.  (To  STEINJ  Mr.  Lucas  is  a  very 
handsome  young  man. 

STEIN.  Yes,  Lucas  is  all  right  if  he  had  a  hair 
cut. 

AUNT  LANE.    Are  you  an  actor,  Mr.  Stein  ? 

STETN.    No,  I'm  the  manager  of  the  troupe. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Confidentially)  Rollo's  not  very 
strong,  you  know.  I  hope  you  won't  let  him  play 


38  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

anything  but  some  little  part,  where  it  won't  matter 
much.  He  gets  very  nervous  and  then  he  really 
should  lie  down. 

STEIN.  Well,  if  he  lies  down  in  this  piece,  I'm 
afraid  it  will  be  noticed. 

AUNT  LANE.    Has  the  play  been  named  yet  ? 

STEIN.  Why,  yes,  it's  been  named  a  long  time. 
It's  Hamlet. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Surprised)  Hamlet?  Really — 
and  is  that  Mr.  Lucas  going  to  play  Hamlet? 
(Glancing  at  LUCAS. ) 

STEIN.  No,  your  nephew,  Mr.  Webster,  is  going 
to  play  Hamlet. 

AUNT  LANE.  Rollo!  You're  not  serious,  Mr. 
Stein.  You  certainly  can't  think  that  Rollo  could 
play  Hamlet? 

STEIN.  (Gallantly)  Why  shouldn't  he,  with  such 
a  handsome  aunt? 

AUNT  LANE.  (Disturbed)  Why,  it's  absurd.  I 
must  speak  to  him.  Rollo!  (STEIN  up  to  join 
GOLDIE.  ROLLO  to  AUNT  LANE)  Rollo,  I  want  to 
speak  to  you  about  this  idea  of  yours  of  playing 
Hamlet — I  supposed  you  were  going  to  do  some  little 
thing  that  you  had  written  yourself,  like  the  char 
ades  you  used  to  do  with  Lydia.  But  Hamlet!  Is 
it  true,  Rollo,  that  you  think  of  doing  such  a  thing? 

ROLLO.  Yes,  Aunt  Lane.  It's  true.  What  about 
it? 

AUNT  LANE.  (Reproachfully)  Rollo,  when  I 
think  of  you  in  your  perambulator,  the  dearest, 
sweetest,  most  considerate  little  baby  I  ever  saw! 

ROLLO.  Aunt  Lane,  I  beg  that  you  will  forget  my 
character  in  my  perambulator.  I  have  changed  since 
then. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Trying  to  be  resigned)  Well, 
we'll  just  have  to  make  the  best  of  it  and  keep  it 
from  your  Grandfather  as  long  as  we  can. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  39 

ROLLO.  I'm  not  going  to  take  my  own  name. 
I'm  using  "Rollster,"  a  combination  of  Rollo  and 
Webster. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Laughing)  Rollster!  Oh,  Rollo, 
that's  too  ridiculous.  It  sounds  like  some  kind  of 
a  mattress. 

ROLLO.    (With  dignity)    I  don't  know  why ! 

AUNT  LANE.    I  don't  either,  but  it  does. 

ROLLO.  Excuse  me,  Aunt  Lane.  I  have  my 
business  to  attend  to.  (Turning  to  the  others)  On 
Monday  we'll  start  rehearsals.  There's  just  one 
thing  I'd  like  to  make  sure  of  now — that  is  that  the 
voices  go  together. 

LYDIA.  My  voice  isn't  very  good  this  evening, 
Rollo. 

ROLLO.  That  doesn't  matter — you  won't  need  to 
use  it. 

STEIN.    Why  not  have  them  harmonize? 

ROLLO.  (STEIN  goes  L.  to  piano  bench,  sits)  Sup 
pose  we  try  a  few  lines — those  who  are  together  in 
scenes.  Suppose — you  know  the  part  of  Laertes,  Mr. 
Lucas.  (Takes  copy  of  "Hamlet"  from  his  pocket.) 

LUCAS.  Yes,  Mr.  Webster,  certainly.  (He  comes 
down.  LYDIA  sits  on  steps.) 

ROLLO.  Very  good.  It's  important  that  your 
voice  should  suit  Miss  MacDufFs. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Mr.  Lucas  has  a  beautiful 
voice. 

ROLLO.  Yes?  Miss  MacDuff,  will  you  come 
down?  We'll  start  on,  "My  necessaries  are  em 
barked—" 

(  LUCAS  and  GOLDIE  down  c.    LUCAS  R.C.     GOLDIE 
L.C.     ROLLO  down  R.) 

LUCAS.     (Picking  it  up) 

"My  necessaries  are  embarked,   farewell, 


40  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

And  sister  as  the  winds  give  benefit 
And  convoy  is  assistant,  do  not  sleep 
But  let  me  hear  from  you."  (His  hand  on  GOL- 
DIE'S  arm.) 

ROLLO.     Don't  put  your  hand  on  her. 
LUCAS.    No,  sir,  certainly  not. 
GOLDIE.     (Casting  an  inquiring  look  at  ROLLO) 
Shall  I? 

ROLLO.     Yes,  go  on. 

GOLDIE.    Will  you  just  say  that  over  again? 
ROLLO.    Just  the  last  line,  please. 
LUCAS.     Just  the  last  line. 

"But  let  me  hear  from  you." 
GOLDIE.     "Do  you  doubt  that?"" 
LUCAS. 

"For  Hamlet  and  the  trifling  of  his  favour 
Hold  it  a  fashion  and  a  toy  in  blood, 
A  violet  in  the  youth  of  primy  nature 
Forward  not  permanent,  sweet,  not  lasting. 
The  perfume  and  suppliance  of  a  minute  no 

more." 
GOLDIE.     (Softly  and  with  raised  eyebrows) 

"No  more  but  so?" 
LUCAS. 

"Think  it  no  more  for  nature — " 
ROLLO.      (Interrupting)      Skip   to — "And   in   the 
morn  and  liquid  dew  of  youth — " 
LUCAS. 

"And  in  the  morn  and  liquid  dew  of  youth — " 
(He  hesitates.) 
ROLLO.      (Prompting    him)     "Contagious    blast- 


LUCAS. 

"Contagious  blastments — " 
(To  ROLLO)     Thank  you. 
ROLLO.     Not  at  all. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  41 

LUCAS. 

"Are  most  imminent, 
Be  wary  then ;  best  safety  lies  in  fear ; 
Youth  to  itself  rebels,  tho'  ndne  else  near." 
STEIN.     (Aside)     Whatever  that  means.     (CAM- 
PERDOWN  and  SKITTERLING  look  at  him  reproach- 
fully.) 

GOLDIE. 

"I  shall  the  effect  of  this  good  lesson  keep. 
As   watchman   to   my   heart.      But   good   my 

brother, 

Do  not  as  some  ungracious  pastors  do, 
Show  me  the  steep  and  thorny  way  to  Heav 
en " 

Oh,  dear — this  spoils  it  all. 

ROLLO.  (Goes  to  her.  LUCAS  drops  down  R.) 
What's  the  matter? 

GOLDIE.     This  line — I  can't.     I  just  can't  say  it. 
(Showing    him   in    the    book.      CAMPERDOWN    and 
SKITTERLING  come  down  L.C.) 
ROLLO. 

"Whiles  like  a  puff'd  and  reckless  libertine, 

Himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance  treads." 
— You  don't  like  to  say  that? 
GOLDIE.    Not  the  "whiles  like  a  puff'd"  part. 
ROLLO.     Why  not? 
GOLDIE.     I  don't  think  it's  nice. 
ROLLO.     It's  the  "reckless  libertine,"  I  suppose, 
you  don't  like. 

GOLDIE.    I  couldn't  say  it. 

ROLLO.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  believe  she 
said  it.  We'll  cut  it  out. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  (Unable  to  restrain  herself) 
Mr.  Webster. 

CAMPERDOWN.  (With  SKITTERLING  advance) 
But  Mr.  Shakespeare  said  it.  Are  you  going  to  im 
prove  on  Shakespeare,  Mr.  Webster? 


42  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

ROLLO.  (Crosses  to  CAMPERDOWN)  Why  not? 
If  Miss  MacDuff  had  told  Shakespeare  that  Ophelia 
wouldn't  have  said  that,  he'd  have  said,  "Wouldn't 
she?"  that's  all.  He'd  have  changed  it.  He  was  a 
nice  fellow,  you  know,  nothing  God-like  or  disagree 
able  about  him.  And  there's  no  reason  why,  just 
because  he's  dead,  Ophelia  should  go  on  saying  that 
line.  "Puff'd  and  reckless  libertine"  is  rather  dis 
gusting.  Sounds  more  like  Polonius. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  (Rising  and  coming  c.)  Ex 
cuse  me,  Mr.  Webster — but  it's  all  in  the  way  of 
saying  it — if  you'll  pardon  a  suggestion,  just  give 
Mr.  Lucas  a  look,  dear.  (To  GOLDIE  j  When  you 
say  that.  Let  me  show  you.  (Crosses  to  LUCAS. 
Passes  GOLDIE  R.  with  a  jaunty  look  at  LUCAS.) 
Put  your  arm  around  me,  George. 

LUCAS.    ( To  ROLLOJ    May  I? 

ROLLO.     If  she  wants  you  to. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES. 

"Do  not  as  some  ungracious  pastors  do, 
Show  me  the  steep  and  thorny  way  to  Heaven 
Whiles  like  a  puff'd  and  reckless  libertine " 

— A  little  nudge  here  helps  it.  You  can  do  that, 
can't  you? 

GOLDIE.    Why,  I  suppose  I  could (Crosses 

back  c.) 

(MRS.  PARK-GALES  crosses  to  ROLLO.) 

ROLLO.  But  I  don't  want  her  to  do  it,  Mrs.  Gales. 
Ophelia  wouldn't  have  done  it. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Oh,  but  I've  played  the  part 
so  many  times,  Mr.  Webster — and  I  always  did  it. 
In  fact  was  asked  to  do  it.  It  helps  Mr.  Lucas. 

ROLLO.  I  don't  think  Mr.  Lucas  needs  any  help. 
And  what  I  want  Miss  MacDuff  to  do  is  to  act  like 
Ophelia.  Not  like  an  actress  playing  Ophelia. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  43 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Oh,  well,  just  one  thing,  my 
dear.  (To  GOLDIE)  Don't  swallow  continually  the 
way  you  do.  I'm  sure  Ophelia  didn't  do  that. 

GOLDIE.  I  know — it's  dreadful!  I  can't  help  it! 
It's  because  I'm  nervous. 

ROLLO.  (To  GOLDIE)  Do  it.  Of  course  Ophelia 
did  it.  Wasn't  she  nervous?  Swallow  and  skip  to 
"Whilst  himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance 
treads." 

(MRS.  PARK-GALES  sits  R.  of  table.) 

GOLDIE. 

"Whilst  himself  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance 

treads 

And  recks  not  his  own  rede." 
LUCAS. 

"Oh  fear  me  not,  I  stay  too  long 

But  here  my  father  comes " 

CAMPERDOWN.    Shall  I  come  in,  Mr.  Webster? 
ROLLO.     Yes,  for  a  minute. 
CAMPERDOWN.    (Strides  to  LUCAS) 
"Yet  here,  Laertes, 
Aboard,  aboard  for  shame. 
The  wind  sets  in  the  shoulder  of  your  sail, 
And  you  are  stayed  for! 
There  my  blessing  with  you."     (Laying  his 
hand  on  the  top  of  LUCAS'  head,  which  LUCAS  does 
not  enjoy.) 

ROLLO.  That  will  do.  It's  all  right.  (To  GOLDIE,) 
I  wish  there  was  more  of  you. 

CAMPERDOWN.  (With  sarcasm)  Won't  you  have 
time  to  write  something  in — before  we  open,  Mr. 
Webster? 

ROLLO.    What  do  you  mean? 
CAMPERDOWN.     Well,  I  only  thought 


44  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

STEIN.  Mr.  Camperdown,  an  actor  should  never 
think  at  rehearsals. 

CAMPERDOWN.  Some  people  can't  help  thinking, 
Mr.  Stein.  (Displeased,  crosses  to  SKITTERLING.) 

LUCAS.  (To  GOLDIE)  As  soon  as  we  get  easy, 
I  think  you  will  be  happy  in  the  scenes  we  have  to 
gether. 

GOLDIE.  Do  you?  (They  start  up  c.  together. 
ROLLO  follows,  taking  GOLDIE  back.) 

(  LUCAS  sits  on  steps  with  LYDIA.J 

ROLLO.     You'd  better  sit  here  by  Aunt  Lane. 

AUNT  LANE.  (To  GOLDIE)  My  dear,  you'll 
make  a  lovely  Ophelia. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  Miss  Lane,  do  you  think  so  ?  I  feel 
that  Shakespeare  hates  me  so  already,  I  can  hardly 
stand  it. 

AUNT  LANE.  Oh,  but  you  mustn't  feel  that  way 
— must  she,  Rollo? 

ROLLO.  That  Shakespeare  hates  her?  Why,  he's 
just  standing  around  somewhere  hoping  she  won't 
hate  him. 

AUNT  LANE.  Try  the  soliloquy,  Rollo — go  on — 
try  it. 

ROLLO.     I'd  rather  not  if  you  don't  mind. 

AUNT  LANE.  I  wouldn't  make  any  changes, 
Rollo.  Didn't  somebody  say  we  should  neither  add 
to  nor  take  away  from  it? 

ROLLO.    That  was  the  Bible,  dear. 

AUNT  LANE.    Oh,  so  it  was. 

ROLLO.  I  think  we'll  wait  until  the  cast  is  com 
plete  before  we  rehearse  any  more — I'm  having  a 
little  supper  served  in  the  grill.  Won't  you  all  go 
down,  please?  Aunt  Lane,  let  Mr.  Stein  take  you 
down. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  45 

AUNT  LANE.    I  don't  think  I  will,  Rollo. 

ROLLO.  Of  course  you  will.  It's  jolly  down  there. 
I've  ordered  crab  meat  especially  for  you. 

AUNT  LANE.  Why,  how  could  you  when  yon 
didn't  know  I  was  coming-? 

ROLLO.  Well,  I  was  afraid  you  would — go  along 
— there's  a  dear.  Mr.  Stein,  will  you  take  down 
Aunt  Lane? 

AUNT  LANE.  (Glancing  at  LYDIA^)  Oh,  Rollo! 
How  about  Miss  Bouton? 

ROLLO.    Miss  Bouton! 

LYDIA.  (W 'ho  has  become  absorbed  with  LUCAS) 
What's  the  matter? 

ROLLO.  Supper  in  the  grill.  Mr.  Lucas,  will  you 
take  Miss  Bouton? 

LUCAS.    With  pleasure. 

(Exit  AUNT  LANE,  STEIN,  LUCAS  AND  LYDIA.J 

ROLLO.  Wont  you  gentlemen  take  down  Mrs. 
Park-Gales?  (To  CAMPERDOWN  and  SKITTERLING 
as  they  start  for  the  door.) 

SKITTERLING.  (Returning  to  Miss  PARK-GALES,) 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Gales. 

CAMPERDOWN.    So  do  I,  I'm  sure. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Pray  don't.  I  never  blame 
people  for  hurrying  to  eat  when  they're  hungry.  As 
for  me,  I  had  a  hearty  dinner  not  so  long  ago. 
(Spoken  as  they  move  arm  in  arm  to  D.R.  and  exit.) 

ROLLO.  (To  GOLDIE,  who  starts  toward  the  door) 
Are  you  hungry? 

GOLDIE.     No,  Mr.  Webster. 

ROLLO.  Then  wait  a  minute.  I  have  something  I 
want  to  say  to  you. 

GOLDIE.    What  is  it,  Mr.  Webster? 

ROLLO.  I've  forgotten,  but  haven't  you  something 
you  want  to  say  to  me? 

GOLDIE.     Yes,  Mr.  Webster,  you  shouldn't  have 


46  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

sent  me  the  roses.      (GOLDIE  crosses  L.C.     ROLLO 

R.C.J 

ROLLO.  I  should.  But  I  do  wish  you'd  tell  me 
where  you  live.  I'd  like  to  be  able  to  address  my 
own  roses  instead  of  sending  them  to  a  drug  store. 

GOLDIE.  I  wouldn't  mind  telling  you — but  I'm  so 
afraid  you  might  come  to  see  me. 

ROLLO.    Oh,  you  wouldn't  want  me  to  do  that? 

GOLDIE.    No.    There  really  isn't  room. 

ROLLO.  Isn't  room Well,  there's  a  hall  out 
side,  isn't  there? 

GOLDIE.  Yes.  But  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  you 
standing  in  the  hall. 

ROLLO.  I  could  bring  a  chair  with  me.  I've 
never  had  such  a  curiosity  to  see  an  apartment.  You 
really  must  let  me  come,  and  just  look  at  it  through 
the  keyhole. 

GOLDIE.  It  really  isn't  an  apartment,  you  see — 
it's  just  a  room  and  bath  and  kitchenette.  To  tell 
the  truth 

ROLLO.  If  you're  going  to  tell  the  truth,  perhaps 
you'd  better  sit  down. 

GOLDIE.  (Sitting  as  he  suggests  at  L.  of  table) 
There  really  isn't  any  kitchenette — I  mean  the  bath 
and  kitchenette  are  the  same. 

ROLLO.     (Sitting  at  R.  of  table)    Oh,  they  are? 

GOLDIE.  I  have  a  little  alcohol  lamp  and  I  make 
coffee,  in  the  bathtub.  Then,  when  the  lamp  ex 
plodes,  it  doesn't  set  fire  to  anything. 

ROLLO.  You  must  give  me  your  word  of  honor 
never  to  do  such  a  thing  again. 

GOLDIE.  Why,  there  isn't  the  slightest  danger.  I 
make  coffee  and  boil  eggs  and  make  toast  every 
morning.  Because  we  don't  like  to  go  out  for  break 
fast.  Besides,  there's  the  babv. 

ROLLO.     (Coldly)     Oh!     Your  baby? 

GOLDIE.     Oh,  no.     I  wish  it  was.     My  sister's 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  47 

baby.  Such  a  darling.  She's  been  staying-  with  me. 
But  she  went  out  West  yesterday  and  took  the  baby 
with  her.  That's  why  I'd  been  crying. 

ROLLO.     Oh,  I  see. 

GOLDIE.  She  quarreled  with  her  husband  be 
cause  be  gave  up  an  awfully  good  position  in 
an  automobile  factory  to  go  into  the  movies.  He's 
very  good  looking.  So  Tilda  left  him  and  came 
East.  But  now  he's  gone  back  to  the  factory  and 
had  quite  a  raise  in  salary — so  she's  gone  back  to 
him. 

ROLLO.    And  taken  the  baby. 

GOLDIE.     (Sadly)     Yes. 

ROLLO.  Oh,  well,  maybe  she'll  send  it  on  occa- 
sio^ally.  I  should  think  it  would  have  been  pretty 
crowded — you  and  Tilda  and  the  baby  all  in  one 
bath-tub — room,  I  mean. 

GOLDIE.  It  didn't  seem  so.  The  baby  was  a  tiny 
little  thing.  It  had  great  big  blue  eyes  and  curls 
all  over  its  head. 

ROLLO.     I  know.    They  often  do. 

GOLDIE.  The  dearest  thing  was  the  way  it  would 
go  to  sleep  in  my  arms.  It  really — well,  it  seems 
ridiculous  to  say  it — but  it  seemed  to  go  to  sleep 
better  for  me  than  for  Tilda. 

ROLLO.     I  don't  think  that  is  surprising  at  all. 

GOLDIE.  It  was  so  wonderful  to  sit  and  watch  it. 
It  looked  just  like  an  angel.  And  it  gave  you  the 
most  beautiful  feeling,  that  you  weren't  doing  any 
thing  at  all,  and  yet  were  doing  the  most  important 
thing  in  the  world — putting  a  baby  to  sleep. 

ROLLO.  Yes.  It  is  important.  For  if  they  didn't 
go  to  sleep  it  would  drive  all  the  rest  of  us  crazy. 
We  had  a  gardener  once  whose  baby  never  went  to 
sleep.  It  cried  all  night  and  we  had  to  discharge 
him. 


48  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

GOLDIE.  Why,  the  poor  little  thing!  What  do 
you  suppose  was  the  matter  with  it  ? 

ROLLO.  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Babies  are  like  human 
beings,  I  think.  Some  of  them  just  downright  dis 
agreeable  and  dissatisfied  with  everything.  This 
baby's  mother  made  splendid  bread,  too.  I  used  to 
sneak  down  to  the  cottage  often  for  bread  and 
sugar 

GOLDIE.  Maybe  the  baby  wasn't  old  enough  to 
appreciate  bread  and  sugar. 

ROLLO.  I  know,  but  why  not  look  ahead  a  little, 
even  if  you  are  a  baby? 

GOLDIE.  Why  not  look  ahead  a  little,  even  if 
you're  not? 

ROLLO.     Do  you  mean  anything  by  that? 

GOLDIE.  Yes — of  course,  I've  no  right  to  say  it, 
so  I  won't.  Tell  me  about  yourself  when  you're 
at  home.  I  suppose  you  have  a  home? 

ROLLO.  Good  Heavens,  I  should  say  I  had!  I 

don't  like  to  think  of  it However,  what  sort 

of  thing  would  you  like  me  to  tell  you? 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  about  the  house,  and  where  it  is,  and 
what  you  do. 

ROLLO.  Well,  let's  see.  It's  a  large,  rambling  old 
house  in  the  country.  The  only  trouble  is,  it  never 
rambles — it  stays  right  there. 

GOLDIE.  And  is  there  a  garden?  And  has  it 
roses  in  it? 

ROLLO.  I  should  say  so.  Old-fashioned  roses 
about  as  big  as  a  quarter  with  hundreds  of  leaves — 
and  thousands  of  rose-bugs. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  how  lovely.  And  has  it  got  mignon 
ette  in  it,  too  ? 

ROLLO.  Oh,  Lord,  yes.  Awfully  big,  fat  mignon 
ette,  and  bluebells  and  campanullas,  and  laburnam 
and  dulcinneam,  and  corryopsis  and  cockalorums, 
and  all  those  things. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  49 

GOLDIE.     Oh,  it  must  be  lovely ! 

ROLLO.    Now  what  shall  I  tell  you  ? 

GOLDIE.    What  do  you  do? 

ROLLO.     Nothing  much.     I  ride  some 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  I've  always  wanted  to  do  that.  On 
horseback,  you  mean? 

ROLLO.  Yes,  on  and  off.  I  started  when  I  was 
only  five  and  I  got  thrown  and  broke  my  shoulder 
and  my  collar-bone  and  my  nose  all  the  first  year. 
It  isn't  quite  right  yet.  (Feeling  nose.)  Maybe 
you've  noticed  it? 

GOLDIE.  No,  I  just  thought  it  was  sort  of  Ro 
man. 

ROLLO.    No,  it's  sort  of  Shetland. 

GOLDIE.    Tell  me  about  the  family. 

ROLLO.  Oh,  it's  just  Grandfather  and  Lydia  and 
Aunt  Lane. 

GOLDIE.     What  an  odd  name! 

ROLLO.  Yes,  I  had  two  Aunt  Annas,  so  Grand 
father  decided  to  call  one  by  her  last  name.  That 
was  Aunt  Lane.  She  was  very  angry,  and  she  came 
to  see  Grandfather  about  it,  and  she's  lived  with  us 
ever  since. 

GOLDIE.    And  what  is  your  Grandfather  like? 

ROLLO.  (Frowning)  Oh,  he's  a  terror.  Wants 
everybody  to  do  what  he  wants. 

GOLDIE.     What  does  he  want  you  to  do? 

ROLLO.  He'd  like  to  have  me  interested  in  air 
brakes. 

GOLDIE.    Air-brakes?    Tell  me  about  them? 

ROLLO.  Well,  when  you're  on  a  train  and  it  gives 
a  lurch,  and  all  the  people  sitting  down  are  thrown 
on  the  floor,  and  all  the  people  standing  up  are 
thrown  on  top  of  them,  that's  the  air-break  working. 

GOLDIE.  I've  always  wondered  what  that  was.  I 
should  think  you'd  want  to  do  something  about  it. 

ROLLO.     I  don't — the  only  thing  I  want  to  do  is 


50  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

to  have  you  tell  me — if  everything-  should  come  out 

all  right — to  have  you  tell  me (Enter  HEWS- 

TON.  Coughs  discreetly.) — something  more  about 
your  Grandmother. 

HEWSTON.  I'm  afraid  they  can't  hold  the  table 
much  longer,  sir. 

ROLLO.  Well,  why  don't  you  get  a  quiet  table 
they  can  hold. 

GOLDIE.  I  think  we  had  better  go,  Mr.  Webster. 
(She  starts  off.) 

ROLLO.  Oh,  dear,  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  that 
restive  table.  Hewston,  can't  you  make  us  an 
omelette  or  something?  I  suppose  not.  (Follows 
GOLDIE  off.) 

(HEWSTON  stalks  across  the  stage  in  Shakespearean 
style.) 

HEWSTON.  Ah,  yes,  yes,  indeed — those  were  the 
days — 

"  Tis  not  alone  me  inky  cloak,  good  mother." 
(Continues  speech  to  {<Shapes  of  grief.     These  do 
but  seem — ") 

(Bell.     Startled  back  to  the  reality  of  his  position, 
he  goes  to  door.     Admits  LYDIA  and  LUCAS.) 

LYDIA.  (Sitting  on  arm  of  chair  R.)  I  want  my 
cape,  Hewston. 

LUCAS.  My  hat,  please.  (To  LYDIA)  Why  can't 
I  take  you  home  ? 

LYDIA.  Oh,  you're  awfully  kind,  but  I'm  going 
with  Miss  Lane.  You  see,  we're  stopping  at  the 
same  hotel. 

LUCAS.  Well,  can't  I  take  you  both  ?  What  hotel 
is  it? 

LYDIA.    Well,  it  isn't  really  a  hotel — it's  the  Col- 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  51 

ony  Club.  Aunt  Lane  likes  it.  She  always  stops 
there. 

LUCAS.     Aunt  Lane  ?    Is  she  your  aunt  ? 

LYDIA.  (Crosses  to  c.,  followed  by  LUCAS)  Oh, 
dear — you  won't  tell,  will  you  ? 

LUCAS.    Of  course  not — if  you  don't  want  me  to. 

LYDIA.  Rollo  doesn't  want  anyone  to  know.  Be 
cause  people  might  think  he  let  me  be  in  the  play 
just  because  I'm  his  sister. 

LUCAS.  I  see.  You  haven't  told  me  yet  what 
part  you're  playing. 

LYDIA.  I  didn't  like  to — it's  so  small.  It's  Pro 
logue. 

LUCAS.  Oh,  Prologue!  "For  us  and  for  our 
tragedy" ? 

LYDIA.  Yes.  You  see,  I've  never  played  a  part 
before. 

LUCAS.  I  see.  I  wish  we  had  some  scenes  to 
gether. 

LYDIA.    Oh,  it's  awfully  kind  of  you  to  say  so. 

(HEWSTON  brings  cape  to  place  on  LYDIA'S  shoul 
ders.  LUCAS  takes  it  from  him  and  performs 
the  service.) 

LUCAS.  And  if  I  can  be  of  any  help  to  you,  you 
mustn't  hesitate  to  call  upon  me. 

LYDIA.  Oh,  thank  you.  I'm  sure  you  can.  You 
speak  so  beautifully. 

LUCAS.    Do  you  think  so,  really? 

LYDIA.  Oh,  yes.  Why,  everything  you  say  sounds 
just  like  Shakespeare.  I  mean — I  mean — I  can't 
imagine  you  saying  anythirg  just  ordinary,  like 
"What  time  does  the  train  go?"  or  anything  like 
that.  I  suppose  you  do,  though,  sometimes. 

LUCAS.     You're  awfully  amusing. 

LYDIA.     Am  I?     I  wish  I  were.     I  live  such  a 


52  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

secluded  life  that  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not. 
(HEWSTON  approaches  with  a  hat.) 

HEWSTON.    Is  this  your  hat,  sir? 

LUCAS.  (Barely  glancing  at  it)  No.  You  live 
in  the  country,  don't  you? 

LYDIA.  Yes.  With  my  Grandfather  at  Shel- 
brooke.  He  has  a  very  large  place  and  he's  awfully 
lonely,  so  we  have  to  live  with  him. 

LUCAS.  I  see.  But  don't  you  like  the  country? 
I  long  so  for  the  birds  and  flowers  at  this  season 
of  the  year — long  for  my  own  country  place  in  the 
hills  of  Surrey. 

LYDIA.  Yes,  at  this  season  of  the  year  it's  begin 
ning  to  be  nice.  But  in  winter  it's  so  terribly  cold. 

LUCAS.  (Curious  about  the  house)  But  you  have 
steam  heat,  don't  you? 

LYDIA.  Not  outdoors.  And  oh,  it's  not  life,  in 
the  country,  is  it? 

LUCAS.  Neither  is  this.  I  don't  know  where  we 
can  find  life — real  life. 

HEWSTON.  (With  another  hat)  Is  this  your  hat, 
sir? 

LUCAS.  No!  (To  LYDIAJ  I  sometimes  find  it 
in  a  book,  sometimes  on  my  horse  galloping  in  the* 
teeth  of  the  wind.  Sometimes  in  a  pair  of  friendly 
eyes. 

LYDIA.     I  know  exactly  what  you  mean. 

(Phone  rings.    LYDIA  crosses  to  mirror  on  wall  L.) 

HEWSTON.  (Answering  phone)  Yes,  sir — very 
well,  sir.  (To  LYDIA  j  I'm  to  take  down  all  the 
wraps  and  your  Aunt  Lane's  cab  is  here,  Miss. 

LUCAS.     My  hat,  please? 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  53 

(HEWSTON   brings   the  wraps   and   all   three   hats, 
which  he  extends.    LUCAS  takes  one.) 

HEWSTON.    I  offered  you  that  one,  sir. 

LUCAS.  Thanks  very  much.  Aren't  you  forget 
ting-  this?  (Picking  up  GOLDIE'S  wrap.) 

HEWSTON.    I  was  told  to  forget  it,  sir. 

ROLLO.  (Entering)  Hurry  alorg,  Hewston. 
(To  LYDIAJ  Miss  Bouton,  are  you  going? 

(Exit  HEWSTON.) 

LYDIA.    (Crossing  briskly  n.)    Yes,  Mr.  Webster. 

ROLLO.     Miss  Lane  is  waiting. 

LYDIA.  I  know  it.  I  hope  your  play  will  be  a 
great  success.  (Seeing  GOLDIE'S  wrap)  There's 
some  one's  wrap.  Hewston's  a  stupid  idiot,  isn't  he  ? 

ROLLO.  Isn't  he?  But  then,  so  is  almost  every 
body.  (With  a  meaning  look.) 

LYDIA.    Oh,  excuse  me,  I  didn't  understand. 

ROLLO.    Didn't  understand  what? 

LYDIA.    (Softly)    It's  your  wild  oat. 

LUCAS.     Good-right ! 

ROLLO.     Good-night ! 

(LYDIA  and  LUCAS  exit.  ROLLO  lights  cigarette,  gets 
pillows  from  window-seat  and  puts  them  in  wing 
chair,  humming,  "Blushing  June  Roses."  En 
ter  HEWSTON.) 

ROLLO.     Have  they  gone,  Hewston? 

HEWSTON.  Why,  some  of  them  have  and  some 
of  them  haven't,  sir.  There  was  a  taxi  and  quite  an 
argument  about  how  many  could  get  into  it. 

ROLLO.     I  see. 

HEWSTON.    Shall  I  close  up,  sir? 

ROLLO.     Why  should  you?     It  begins  to   dawn 


54  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

upon  me  that  you  don't  know  very  much,  Hewston. 

HEWSTON.    Perhaps  not,  sir. 

ROLLO.  A  man  in  the  city  is  quite  different  from 
a  man  in  the  country,  Hewston. 

HEWSTON.    Yes,  sir. 

ROLLO.  And  the  service  he  requires  is  different. 
A  little  intelligence  in  the  city  is  quite  desirable 
sometimes.  I  don't  know  if  I  make  myself  clear. 

HEWSTON.  Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  if  you  don't, 
sir. 

ROLLO.  I  told  you  to  keep  Miss  Goldie's  cloak 
here.  And  you  did  it. 

HEWSTON.     And  shouldn't  I  have  done  it,  sir? 

ROLLO.  You  should.  But  you  don't  suppose  it's 
goir-g  to  end  there,  do  you? 

HEWSTON.     What,  sir? 

ROLLO.  (With  a  gesture  of  impatience)  You 
win,  Hewston — listen,  will  you?  When  Miss  Mac- 
Duff  comes  for  her  cloak,  when  she  enters  the  door 
— which  I  will  open — I  want  you  to  come  from  that 
point. 

HEWSTON.     What  point,  sir? 

ROLLO.     That  chair. 

HEWSTON.    Which  chair,  sir? 

ROLLO.  The  second  chair,  where  you  will  be 
standing,  with  the  cloak  and  be  saying,  "Look,  sir. 
Miss  Goldie's  cloak  has  been  forgotten." 

HEWSTON.    Yes,  sir. 

ROLLO.    It  isn't  possible  that  you  understand  me? 

HEWSTON.    Yes,  sir,  I  do. 

ROLLO.  Let's  see  you  do  it,  then.  ( ROLLO  gives 
him  the  wrap,  goes  to  do  *t  admitting  imaginary 
person.) 

HEWSTON.  (Carefully  taking  position.  Tragi 
cally)  Look,  sir!  Miss  Goldie's  cloak  has  been 
forgotten ! 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  55 

ROLLO.  Yes.  But  don't  be  so  gloomy  about  it. 
After  all,  it  doesn't  amount  to  anything. 

HEWSTON.    (Doubtfully)    No,  sir. 

ROLLO.    What's  the  matter? 

HEWSTON.  Well,  sir — if  I  might  suggest  some 
thing. 

ROLLO.    Certainly — go  ahead. 

HEWSTON.     I  wouldn't  say  "Miss  Goldie,"  sir. 

ROLLO.     Oh  !— 

HEWSTON.  No,  sir,  I'd  say  Miss  MacDuff.  I 
think  I  could  speak  it  much  more  naturally  with  that 
alteration. 

ROLLO.  Certainly.  Say  what  seems  natural,  only 
convey  my  meaning. 

HEWSTON.    (Pleased)    Yes,  sir. 

ROLLO.  She's  a  lovely  girl,  Hewston.  Her  only 
fault  is  that  she  doesn't  think  she  can  play  Ophelia — 
but  when  you  think  of  other  people's  faults,  that 
isn't  much.  I  have  the  greatest  admiration  and 
respect  for  her.  And  if  anyone  were  to  say  any 
thing  against  her  in  my  presence,  their  life  wouldn't 
be  worth  a  straw.  (Looks  a  little  fiercely  at  HEW 
STON.) 

HEWSTON.     I  understand,  sir. 

(Bell.  ROLLO  motions  HEWSTON  back  in  position. 
Goes  to  the  door  and  opens  it,  admiting  MR. 
STEIN.) 

HEWSTON.  ( Not  seeing  him,  fatuously)  Oh,  look 
sir,  Miss  MacDuff's  cloak  has  been  mislaid — left 
here  quite  unbeknownst,  I  should  say. 

STEIN.  (Taking  cloak)  Just  what  I  came  for, 
thank  you.  Good-nigh^  Mr.  Webster.  (Exits.) 

( ROLLO  looks  at  HEWSTON  with  disgust.) 
CURTAIN 


ACT    II 

SCENE:  ROLLO'S  dressing-room  in  the  Oddity  Thea 
tre.  A  dressing-table  R.  A  chair  in  front  of  it. 
A  poster  of  "The  Rollstcr  Producing  Company" 
on  wall  R.U.E.  A  sheet  for  covering  costumes 
on  wall  L.U.E.  A  door  upstage  c.  A  wardrobe 
chest  down  L.C.  A  chair  up  R. 

AT  RISE:  HEWSTON  enters  the  room,  followed  by 
LYDIA  in  Prologue  costume. 

LYDIA.  Where  have  you  looked  for  him,  Hew- 
eton? 

HEWSTON.  Well,  Miss,  there's  not  much  place 
to  look,  only  behind  the  curtains,  and  I've  shaken 
them  thoroughly. 

LYDIA.  But  you  don't  really  think  he's  running 
away,  Hewston  ?  Why,  what  can  he  be  thinking  of? 

HEWSTON.  Very  likely  he's  not  thinking  at  all, 
Miss — just  stepping  out. 

LYDIA.    Hewston,  shouldn't  you  notify  Mr.  Stein  ? 

HEWSTON.  Well,  that's  it,  Miss.  It's  very  early. 
Of  course,  Mr.  Rollo  has  plenty  of  time  to  get 
back. 

LYDIA.  Yes,  if  we  only  knew  which  direction  he's 
going  in.  Hewston,  I  think  we  should  ask  some  one's 
advice. 

HEWSTON.     Yes,  Miss — whose? 

LYDIA.  Well,  I  thirk  Mr.  Lucas  is  the  most  sen 
sible  one  in  the  companv,  don't  you? 

"56 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  57 

HEWSTON.    (Gloomily)    He  might  be,  at  that. 

LYDIA.    Yes,  ask  Mr.  Lucas  to  come  here. 

HEWSTON.  If  I'll  just  raise  my  voice,  he'll  hear 
me.  (Speaking  up)  Mr.  Lucas,  would  you  kindly 
step  into  Mr.  Webster's  dressing-room  for  a  mo 
ment? 

LUCAS.  (Very  audibly  from  the  next  room)  Why, 
certainly.  Is  there  any  hurry? 

LYDIA.  (Speaking  up)  Yes,  there  is.  f To  HEW 
STON)  Why,  isn't  that  wonderful?  You  can  hear 
perfectly. 

HEWSTON.    Very  wonderful — sometimes,  Miss. 

(Enter  LUCAS  in  costume  of  Laertes.) 

LYDIA.     (Looking  at  him  admiringly)     Mercy ! 

LUCAS.     Is  anything  the  matter? 

LYDIA.  Nothing.  Only  you  look  so  terribly 
handsome.  (Her  manner  changing)  Yes,  yes,  there 
is  something  the  matter.  Rollo  has  disappeared. 

LUCAS.  Disappeared?  Why,  that's  impossible! 
(Glancing  at  HEWSTON.) 

HEWSTON.    Yes,  sir,  it's  true! 

LYDIA.  Do  you  think  we  ought  to  send  Hewston 
to  tell  Mr.  Stein  ? 

LUCAS.     Decidedly ! 

LYDIA.  Don't  bring  him  back  with  you,  Hewston, 
if  you  can  help  it.  Just  say  that  Mr.  Rollo  has  gone 
— and — er (Looking  inquiringly  at  LUCAS.) 

LUCAS.     And  hasn't  come  back. 

LYDIA.    Yes — tell  him  that,  Hewston. 

HEWSTON.    Yes,  Miss.    (Exits.) 

LYDIA.  \Vhat  do  you  suppose  we'll  do — if  he 
doesn't  come  back  at  all?  (LYDIA  down  Rj 

LUCAS.  It's  odd,  really.  Everything  I  have  any 
thing  to  do  with,  closes  just  before  it  opens. 


8  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

LYDIA.  Does  it?  Of  course,  I  can't  be  very  sorry 
because  I'm  so  frightened. 

LUCAS.  Are  you?  ( LUCAS  comes  down  L.  of 
LYDIA.J 

LYDIA.  Yes.  Mr.  Lucas,  you've  been  so  kind  to 
me,  helping  me  about  my  part,  and  everything.  But 
I  don't  think  I'll  ever  be  really  great.  Do  you? 

LUCAS.     Who  can  tell? 

LYDIA.  Why,  I  think  almost  anyone  can.  I'm 
not  strange  enough.  Now,  you — anyone  can  see 
that  you  are  a  great  actor. 

LUCAS.     Do  you  think  so? 

LYDIA.  Oh,  yes,  you  are  quite  different  from  any 
one  I've  ever  met.  You  seem  to  be  acting  all  the 
time.  I  suppose  you  do  it  even  when  you  are  alone. 

LUCAS.    I'm  not  acting  when  I'm  with  you,  Lydia. 

LYDIA.  Oh,  aren't  you  ?  You  seem  to  be.  I  like 
it.  Only  it  does  make  you  seem  very  far  away. 

LUCAS.  I  don't  want  to  seem  far  away — and  I 
don't  want  to  be  far  away.  And  I  shall  regret  it 
most  bitterly  if  you  give  up  the  stage,  for  then  I 
shall  lose  you  out  of  my  life. 

LYDIA.    Why,  Mr.  Lucas !    (Looking  up  at  him.) 

LUCAS.    Call  me  George. 

LYDIA.  Oh,  I  couldn't!  (Takes  a  side  step 
nearer  LUCAS.J 

LUCAS.  Why,  of  course  you  could.  Call  me 
George.  (About  to  put  his  arm  around  her.) 

(Enter  ROLLO.    His  overcoat  is  on  over  his  Hamlet 
costume.) 

ROLLO.  What's  the  idea? 

LYDIA.  (Springing  away  from  LUCAS.     LUCAS 

goes  L.)  That's  just  what  we  were  asking. 

ROLLO.  Oh,  really?     It  didn't  sound  like  that. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  59 

LYDIA.  (Sitting  on  chair)  Where  have  you 
been? 

ROLLO.     I've  been  out  looking"  at  the  moon. 

LYDIA.     Looking  at  the  moon — where? 

ROLLO.     In  it's  usual  place. 

LYDIA.    But  where  were  you,  Rollo? 

ROLLO.  I  was  just  across  the  street  in  a  doorway 
I  found  over  there. 

LYDIA.  On  the  night  you're  going  to  play  Ham 
let! 

ROLLO.  Yes — the  moon  is  shining  just  the  same. 
Did  you  notice  it,  Lucas? 

LUCAS.  I  can't  say  I  did.  I  came  down  in  the 
subway. 

ROLLO.  You  ought  to  go  out  and  have  a  look  at 
it.  After  all,  Nature — well,  she's  pretty  wonderful, 
I  don't  care  what  you  say!  (Crosses  L.  to  LUCAS.) 

LUCAS.  I  never  had  any  idea  but  that  she  was, 
Mr.  Webster. 

LYDIA.  You  don't  seem  to  realize  that  we  were 
terribly  worried  about  you,  Rollo.  Hewston  has 
gone  to  tell  Mr.  Stein  that  you've  disappeared. 

ROLLO.  (Glancing  accusingly  at  LUCAS)  Who 
told  him  to  do  that? 

LYDIA.  Well,  you  had,  hadn't  you?  How  could 
we  know  that  you  were  hiding  in  a  doorway  ? 

(Enter  STEIN.) 

STEIN.  (Much  excited)  Well,  here  he  is !  You 
want  to  turn  my  hair  white,  I  suppose.  You  are  al 
ways  making  trouble,  Lucas,  getting  up  a  scare.  I 
heard  it  about  you  before.  In  every  company  you 
ever  was  you  get  up  an  excitement  over  nothing. 

LUCAS.  "  Don't  be  absurd,  Mr.  Stein.  I  had  noth 
ing  to  do  with  it. 

STEIN.     (To  ROLLO)     They  told  me  you  had  left 


60  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

us  flat.  That's  a  nice  thing  to  say  to  a  manager, 
when  he  is  standing  in  the  lobby  on  opening  night, 
trying  to  keep  a  smile  on  his  face.  Where  was  you, 
Rollo? 

ROLLO.  I  just  stepped  out  to  get  a  little  air.  Quite 
natural,  I  should  think. 

STEIN.     I  should  think  so,  too.     (Sits  on  bench.) 

LUCAS.  (Crossing  to  LYDIA)  If  I  can't  be  of 
any  more  service  to  you,  I'll  go. 

LYDIA.  Tha^k  you  so  much  for  all  you've  done. 
I'll  go,  to.  (Follows  LUCAS  to  D.  LUCAS  exits.) 

ROLLO.  Lydia,  just  a  moment!  (To  her  softly) 
If  I  ever  catch  you  calling  him  George !  (Exit 
LYDIA  haughtily.) 

STEIN.    Don't  you  feel  good,  Rollo? 

ROLLO.  I  feel  all  right.  (Takes  off  overcoat  and 
puts  it  on  chair  up  stage.  Sits  in  chair  at  dressing- 
table.) 

STEIN.  You  know,  I'm  as  nervous  as  the  dickens ! 
Some  fellows  I  know  have  been  talking  to  me  out 
there ;  because  I  am  producing  Shakespeare  they  got 
a  respect  for  me  they  never  had  before. 

ROLLO.  Well,  that's  good.  Better  late  than 
never. 

STEIN.  Those  fellows  said  they  didn't  think  I  had 
it  in  me.  I  didn't.  It  is  you  I  have  to  thank,  Rollo. 
(Crosses  to  ROLLO.) 

ROLLO.  That's  all  right.  Stein,  old  man.  I  don't 
want  you  to  thank  me. 

STEIN.    Call  me  Abie. 

ROLLO.  If  you  don't  mind,  I  won't  just  now. 
Later,  perhaps — after  the  performance. 

STEIN.  Rollo,  promise  me  you  ain't  going  to  lay 
down  on  me. 

ROLLO.     (Rising)     My  God,  no! 

STEIN.  All  right — all  right!  Don't  get  excited! 
And  if  you  do  get  nervous,  just  say  to  yourself, 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  61 

"Abie  is  counting  on  me."     (Lights  go  out.    Calling 
as  he  exits)     Lights !     Lights  ! 

HEWSTON.  (Enters,  lighting  the  candles  on  ROL- 
LO'S  dressing-table)  I  thought  this  would  happen, 
sir,  when  I  saw  the  electrician,  so  I  prepared  for  it. 

(A  knock  on  the  door.  ROLLO  opens  door.  GOLDIE 
stands  in  the  doorway.  She  wears  a  kimona, 
but  her  hair  is  still  coiled  round  her  head.) 

GOLDIE.  Mr.  Webster,  the  lights  have  gone  out 
in  my  dressing-room. 

ROLLO.  Mine  are  out,  too.  Come  in  and  wait. 
Hewston,  find  the  electrician. 

(Exit  HEWSTON.) 

GOLDIE.  (Coming  in)  It's  terribly  early.  (Goes 
L.  Sits  on  bench.) 

ROLLO.  Yes — it  will  be  forever  until  the  curtain 
goes  up.  But  it  will  go  up.  (Sits  on  bench  L.  of 
GOLDIE.J 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  yes,  it  will  go  up.  And  then,  no 
matter  what  happens,  it  will  come  down. 

ROLLO.  Something  quite  outside  myself  seems 
telling  me  that  it's  a  tremendous  moment.  A  mo 
ment  so  many  must  have  gone  through.  I  suppose 
because  a  tremendous  man  provided  it  for  us.  When 
I  read  his  lines,  I  find  I  am  singing  them. 

GOLDIE.     That's  because  he  meant  you  to. 

ROLLO.  He  grips  you,  Goldie.  You  can't  get  away 
from  him. 

GOLDIE.    You  could  have — but  it's  too  late  now. 

ROLLO.  Goldie,  we  are  like  two  children  waiting 
to  be  born  into  a  wonderful  world.  The  world 
Shakespeare  made. 


62  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

GOLDIE.  Yes.  I  don't  feel  as  though  I  shall  live 
very  long. 

ROLLO.  Of  course  you  will.  It's  natural  that  the 
greatness  of  what  we  are  about  to  do  should  be  a 
little  overpowering. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  speak  that 
way.  It  is  great — much  too  great  for  us — I  mean 
for  me.  And  I  can't  help  feeling  that  Mrs.  Park- 
Gales  ought  to  be  doing  it.  She  wouldn't  have 
wanted  anything  changed  or  left  out — she  wouldn't 
mind  "a  puff'd  and  reckless  libertine"  at  all.  She 
said  so. 

ROLLO.     Goldie,  don't  talk  like  that. 

GOLDIE.  They  read  the  lines  the  way  he  meant 
them  to — I'm  sure  he  never  would  have  wanted  me. 

(WARNING— Lights) 

ROLLO.  He  was  a  man,  Goldie.  Of  course  he 
would  have  wanted  you — and  hated  Mrs.  Park- 
Gales. 

GOLDIE.     Do  you  think  so? 

ROLLO.  I  know  it.  I  wish  I  could  say  something 
to  comfort  you,  Goldie.  But  I  can't  seem  to  help 
thinking  of  myself — this  feeling  of — of  awe  that  I 
have  is  almost  physical. 

GOLDIE.  I  know.  Take  long  breaths,  and  if 
you  can  keep  your  knees  stiff,  you  will  be  all  right. 
Some  one  who  knew  all  about  it  told  me  that. 

ROLLO.    Who  knew  all  about  what? 

GOLDIE.,  W7hy,  stage- fright.  That's  what  we 
have.  I  always  have  it. 

ROLLO.     It's  Shakespeare,  Goldie. 

GOLDIE.  I  felt  just  the  same  way  when  I  played 
in  "Sinbad  the  Sailor."  Oh,  if  we  only  weren't  go 
ing  to  do  it.  (Rises  to  c.) 

ROLLO.  (Going  close  to  her)  Don't  feel  so  badly 
about  it.  Just  keep  saying  over  and  over  to  your- 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  63 

self "He  does  want  me — he  does — I  know  he 

wants  me." 

GOLDIE.    Who,  Rollo?    (Lights  go  on.) 

ROLLO.     Why,  Shakespeare 

GOLDIE.  There  they  are!  I  must  go.  Good-bye, 
good  luck,  Rollo!  (Exits.) 

(Enter  HEWSTON  with  long  box,  stems  protruding 
from  the  end.     ROLLO  goes  to  dressing-table.) 

HEWSTON.     Some  flowers  for  yon,  sir. 

ROLLO.  Take  them  out.  Don't  bring  anything 
in  here  until  I  get  out. 

HEWSTON.  Very  good,  sir.  Would  you  care  to 
know  who  they're  from  ? 

ROLLO.     No. 

HEWSTON.  I'll  just  set  them  outside.  (Puts  box 
outside,  entering)  I  haven't  come  across  your  wig, 
sir. 

ROLLO.     I've  got  it  on. 

HEWSTON.  You're  not  going  to  wear  your  own 
hair,  sir 

ROLLO.  Why  not?  Hamlet  wore  his  own  hair, 
didn't  he? 

HEWSTON.  But  he  was  always  referred  to  as  the 
Melancholy  Dane,  sir. 

ROLLO.  Well,  can't  you  be  melancholy  with  light 
hair? 

HEWSTON.  I  had  hoped  you  were  going  to  take 
off  your  mustache,  sir. 

ROLLO.     What  for? 

HEWSTON.  I'm  sure  Hamlet  didn't  wear  a  mus 
tache. 

ROLLO.  I'm  sure  he  did,  and  that  it  was  exactly 
like  mine. 

(CAMPERDOWN  knocks.    HEWSTON  opens  door.) 


64  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

CAMPERDOWN.  (Made  up  as  Polonius,  with  an 
insinuating  look  at  ROLLO)  Well,  how  are  we  feel 
ing  this  evening? 

ROLLO.  I'm  feeling  all  right — how  are  you  feel 
ing,  Hewston? 

HEWSTON.     I'm  feeling  very  well,  sir. 

CAMPERDOWN.  (To  ROLLO)  Don't  be  nervous — 
after  all,  it's  no  more  than  others  have  tried  to  do — 
and  there  is  always  room  in  the  world  for  one  more 
Hamlet ! 

ROLLO.  Thanks.  I  hope  there'll  be  more  room 
in  the  world  than  there  is  in  this  dressing-room. 

CAMPERDOWN.  I  remember  the  occasion  of  my 
first  appearance  very  well.  I  was  in  the  theatre  by 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Some  friends  brought 
me  food  at  about  six — a  dish  of  very  nice  grilled 

bones  and  an  egg  on  the  side Do  you  think  I 

could  eat?  I  fairly  drove  them  from  the  room. 

ROLLO.    How  did  you  do  it  ? 

CAMPERDOWN.  I  understand,  Mr.  Webster. 
(Laughing  indulgently.)  I  won't  wait.  Success  to 
you!  (Exits.) 

ROLLO.  Thanks.  Shut  the  door  and  lock  it,  will 
you,  Hewston? 

HEWSTON.    I'll  shut  it,  sir,  but  I  can't  lock  it. 

ROLLO.     Why  not? 

HEWSTON.    Because  there  is  no  key,  sir 

ROLLO.  (Getting  nervous.  Crosses  to  L.)  No 
key?  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  How  are  you 
supposed  to  keep  the  door  shut? 

HEWSTON.  Lean  against  it,  I  suppose,  sir.  Now 
that  I  examine  it,  there's  not  even  a  keyhole. 

ROLLO.  Have  it  attended  to  at  once.  Call  some 
body 

HEWSTON.  I  doubt  if  there's  anyone  with  a  key 
hole  in  the  house,  sir.  (A  rap  at  the  door.) 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  65 

ROLLO.    Careful,  now !    (Sits  chair  R.) 

(MRS.  PARK-GALES  at  the  door.) 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Just  a  moment,  please — I 
must  speak  to  Mr.  Webster. 

HEWSTON.    Mr.  Webster  is  dressing. 

^MRS.  PARK-GALES.  Well,  can't  I  just  speak  to 
him  through  a  crack  in  the  door?  Mr.  Webster — 
it's  most  important — it's  about  Miss  MacDuff. 

ROLLO.  (Anxious,  going  to  door)  What  is  it? 
Is  anything-  the  matter  with  her? 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.    I  should  think  so (She 

enters,  made  up  as  Queen.)  It's  her  hair!  Mr. 
Webster,  you  must  speak  to  her  about  it.  (MRS. 
PARK-GALES  carries  in  her  hand  a  flaxen  wig  with  a 
fezv  lilies  tangled  in  it.) 

ROLLO.     (Horrified  at  sight  of  it)     What's  that? 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  This  is  a  very  beautiful  wig 
that  I  wore  for  years,  Mr.  Webster.  I  have  offered 
it  to  Miss  MacDuff,  but  she  has  refused  it.  None 
too  graciously,  either.  If  you  know  anything  about 
hair,  you  can  see 

ROLLO.  I  don't.  Please  take  it  away — it  smells 
of  moth  balls! 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.     Oh,  that  comes  right  out. 

ROLLO.    Don't  let  it  come  out  here — please! 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  But  Miss  MacDuff  has  no 
hair  but  her  own  to  wear,  Mr.  Webster. 

ROLLO.  Miss  MacDuff  is  wearing  the  hair  I  want 
her  to  wear,  Mrs.  Gales. 

MRS.  PARK-GALES.  But  she  looks  like  a  soubrette. 
Will  you  at  least  see  it  before  you  let  her  go  on  with 
it — unless  you  have  seen  her  with  her  hair  down. 
Perhaps  you  have.  (Insinuatingly.) 

ROLLO.     I  have  not.    Ask  her  to  come  in  here. 


65  HOLLO'S  WILD  0 

Mss.  PARK-GALES.    I  wiffl— and  111  karae  Ms,  in 
case  yen  change  jxw  mind.    (Waring  tfcr  «^. ) 
ROULKX     Do~"t  Heave  it  in  here,  if  yon  vatae  it. 


Yes,  sir, 

MKS.  PAWK-GAUES.    IT!  take  it  At  feast  Tve  done 
Mttt^  atfl^  of  the  Opbt^tf  better  & 

-  -*— >  \ir«-   \\~-iA-r* JUT  it     /cr*^*^  ««»«& 

Mr,  v\  eo&tes "    f  iurm  trcfw 

:;    iMt    fi.r 


-.:;:: 

I\n  gfarf  to  sec  yt5w  get  so  excited,  sir 

-.  :".:;:-.'-•:---;-•:- 

Pm  toot  e!Rcited — bat  I  bate  great  hanks 
of  Hair  from  God  knows  wbose  head — snnelSing  of 


{A  rap  <m  tit* 

Gou>s£.    Skt  wears  her  Ofkttoa. 
bar  m  ******  J 

Rotxo.    Hewstot^  see  if  TOV  can  find  a  keyhole, 

Horstox.    Yes,  sin    (Exits.) 

GOLME.  I  heard  what  she  said,  Mr.  Webster, 
from  my  dtessar^-room.  I  can't  wear  my  hair  any 
difiesnendy,  and  if  yon  wastt  to  get  some  one  else  to 
play  the  part,  yoa  can  do  so.  I  win  gladly  te- 


Goldie!    How  exquisite—how  heavenly  you 


GOUMK.     (Swrprisri,  but  f**ski*g  ****  sk* 
come  to  say)    I  hate  said  I  didn't  want  to  play  it, 
~-.~.  '.  -  vi  :  .".  * 

Row>.    (L*o1n«$  at  ktr  luar)    Goldie^can  ft  be 
possible  that  it  is  really  yoors  - 

GOUM£.    Of  coarse, 


.()•:;   VVII.D  OAT  67 


//'••//,  ,if,-fy     f'oiilfHh/     I  inn,     tl/>     fn     f<,/>     nf 

/'M///A  )     All  fl,<-  vv;iV   IK.  i.  .  hnr  lo  hrn 

nnr   in   my    IKIIK!  .'      I  low   ".,,1   and   |,,Vrlv    i|,ry   ;,Vr  ! 

A  i  ••  I!M-"  l>i  aids,  '  .oMn-  •' 

("'»..!  N(>,     i|V     pl.nh-,1  |)0     yn|,     rr,||y     ,j|,r     , 

ll.lil    •' 


'"""I    l»r;,vr,,'s.    ,,,V    nVa  r        I        I    ,,rvr,     fr|| 
'•!'      Uli'i    flLoill     .u.yonr-'.    I,.,,,     („    ,||     m,     |,|,.    I,rfof,< 

(T0fo,r  frroid  and  kirns  it,    Then  kisses  her.    <  .<  « 
DIl     tubmw   without   a  si  m  ./>/!,-  )     Fertflvc  me,   I 

'•!"..  ll.lll  'I     ||;,Vr    -f.,     ,      |1,;f|  Will     V<«!     fnli'ivr    ..M"' 

GOLWI,    (Cfoua  ».  )    v/iiy,  of  coune,  Rollo— 

it's  f|iiilr  .ill  ii'i/lil        I  rxpn  ''--I   you  lo 

I"'"'   I  '»         T"  C  «      )        '/nil    'll'l  •' 

(  •"'  "M-.         Yri,    Ili'-y    .'II    li.iv»-.       Mr.    Sl«  in    .iii'l 

fVri  ylin-lv 

l'("''»  (  'J.nfiin/  mt'tty  <IIK/II!\I)  Wrll,  ||j;,f 
<!(•'•  n'l  in.il.c  il  .niv  li'-llfi 

(-n'i"i         f.'o,   IK.  I   ;inv   li»-lf'-i       nnly    I'm   ir.»-f|   lo   it 

'•'"'  '  "  (  .'.I.  In-  '  I  low  <  mil,  |  you  |f-|  ||,,|  ,,,;,,, 
Kiv.  v"ii  "•' 

f  .'.i  IMI        I   ,!,,[,,  '(       II,-   ,,,.  i   (|,,| 

''"'  r,n  (Hiltrr/v)  |u-.i  Mir  way  I  did.  I  Mippn-.r 
\vli-ii  lira-,1-,  vvr  arc!  I  li  i-ln'l  any  id«-..  lli:il  I  wan 
i;"'  '!'  l'»  do  i!  01  IM  hnvr  !«-d  up  to  it  in  voni'- 

^  .'•!   I.  II  I  .<-r|     ||p     10     It    '' 

K'ni.Mi.  Yr-,.        Yon    mil-  I     hav    linli»rd,    ^ioldi'* 

V"ii    nin-.l  li  ivr    rrali/rd    in    |Jif,r    [,..  .1    ihir,-    w,-r  -|,-. 

'•"'iiir.  A  l  c    \-on    l«-;idin:'    H|»    lo    il  •'       ,A.ic    yon   JM( 

III"    to    ,  1  1  )  it     ;i".i  1  1  1  •' 

'  ''  '  '  "       '     '     I'm  iif.f       I   won  Id  1  1  'I   m:il.r   you  ;i  f  i;ii»| 

of    III'-     foi     ;il|    ||ir    woild 

(  ioi  i.  IT.       I'm    no!    ;ifr:dd   of    yon,    l-'ollo. 

l-'oi  i  <»       A  i  rn'i  von  ''' 

Cir^JiFp;  I  l:no\v  lli;it  if  dor  n't  ni'':in  ;invtliin!' 
I  i"  not  MM-  onr  lli;il  you  II  w.v.n'l  ;i  •  .<  -iioir. 

I-:,  -.-.. 


68  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

ROLLO.  Wasn't  it?  But  it  was!  That  is,  it 
would  have  been,  but  you  see — so  much  depends  on 
to-night — I  hardly  know  yet  who  I  am.  I  may 
find  that  I'm  just  plain  Rollo  Webster,  and  I  may 
find  that  I'm 

GOLDIE.     Hamlet ! 

ROLLO.    Yes. 

(Enter  HEWSTON.    Hastily  takes  Hamlet  cloak  from 
behind  wardrobe  curtain.) 

HEWSTON.     Better  be  getting-  out,  sir. 
ROLLO.     I  should  say  so! 

(Exit  ROLLO  and  HEWSTON,  HEWSTON  carrying 
cloak.  After  ROLLO'S  exit,  GOLDIE  goes  to  the 
dressing-table  and  looks  at  herself  in  the  mir 
ror.) 

GOLDIE.  (To  her  reflection)  Why,  Goldie  Mac- 
Duff,  whatever  are  you  doing  in  Ophelia's  clothes? 
My  poor  child,  I'm  sorry  for  you — I'm  truly  sorry. 

(Enter  HEWSTON  excitedly.) 

HEWSTON.  Don't  go,  Miss,  just  for  a  moment. 
Something  has  happened. 

GOLDIE.    What  is  it,  Hewston  ? 

HEWSTON.  Just  after  Mr.  Rollo  went  on  the 
stage  a  message  came  for  him.  It  was  delivered  to 
me — it's  er — it's  about  his  grandfather. 

GOLDIE.     What's  the  matter? 

HEWSTON.  Why,  his  grandfather  is  sick  and 

Well,  here's  the  message. 

GOLDIE.  (Taking  the  message  from  him.  Reads) 
"Come  at  once,  if  you  ever  wish  to  see  your  grand 
father  alive  again."  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
Hewston  ? 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  69 

HEWSTON.  That's  it,  Miss.  I've  sent  out  front 
for  Mr.  Stein — if  he  wants  to  do  anything,  he  can. 

(Ready  to  fade  out  lights  end  of  scene.) 
GOLDIE.     But  Mr.  Rollo  must  be  told.  Hewston. 

TTp  rrm^t  be  told   immfdinf-ely. 

HEWSTON.  I  don't  see  that,  Miss.  Shakespeare 
is  a  solemn  occasion — almost  as  solemn,  we  might 
say,  as  death.  It  deserves  the  same  repect.  I  shall 
not  tell  him — at  least  while  he's  on  the  stage. 

GOLDIE.  But  you  must,  Hewston.  It  may  be  too 
late  if  you  wait. 

HEWSTON.  (Crossing  R.)  I'm  sorry  you  feel  this 
way  about  it,  Miss. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  but  I  do — anyone  would (STEIN 

enters.  GOLDIE  crosses  to  him  c.)  Mr.  Stein,  Mr. 
Webster's  grandfather  is  ill  and  has  sent  for  him. 
You  must  stop  the  performance  at  once. 

STEIN.  (Mitch  excited)  Goldie !  You,  an  actress, 
to  say  such  a  thing ! 

GOLDIE.  His  grandfather  means  far  more  to  him 
than  Hamlet.  He  would  want  you  to  tell  him. 

STEIN.     Is  the  old  man  very  sick? 

GOLDIE.  Of  course  he  is — look !  ( She  shows  him 
the  message.) 

STEIN.  He  can't  prevent  his  grandfather  dying, 
Goldie,  even  if  we  told  him. 

GOLDIE.  (With  feeling)  He'll  never  forgive 
you — he'll  never  forgive  himself.  Think  what  it 
will  mean  to  him — that  while  he  was  out  there  play 
ing  a  part,  a  real  person,  his  own  grandfather,  was 
calling  for  him  !  Haven't  you  any  feeling  ?  Haven't 
you  any  heart? 

STEIN.  Sure  I  got  a  heart — but  you  got  to  con 
trol  your  heart,  Goldie.  in  this  business. 

GOLDIE.     Put  yourself  in  his  place! 


70  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

STEIN.  I  never  was  a  dying  grandfather — but  if 
I  was  one,  I  don't  think  I  would  want  to  break  up 
a  show — on  opening  night. 

GOLDIE.     (Going  c.,  turning  to  HEWSTON)     And 

you,  Hewston — after  all,  you're  the  one  who  ought 

^t/>-^  u,     YcrxrV<>  the  one  who  has  been  told  to  do  it. 

Oh,  it's  wicked  !    You  must  rell  htm — you  must !    If 

you  don't,  I  shall !     (Starts  to  exit.) 

STEIN.  (Blocking  her  way)  You !  Goldie — 
have  you  lost  your  senses? 

GOLDIE.     No — I  haven't. 

STEIN.  Don't  you  know  they  never  deliver  a  mes 
sage  like  this  in  a  theatre?  If  this  was  a  regular 
theatre  we  wouldn't  know  anything  about  it! 

GOLDIE.  I'm  glad  it  isn't,  then.  Let  me  go ! 
Nothing — no  one  can  stop  me — because  I  know  I'm 
doing  right!  (Exits.) 

CURTAIN 
(Lights  out.) 


ACT    II 

SCENE  2 :  Dark  change  from  the  preceding  scene  to 
stage  of  the  Oddity  Theatre. 

Act  i,  Scene  2,  of  Hamlet  is  in  progress. 
The  "Room  of  State  in  the  Castle"  is  repre 
sented  by  a  gray  back  drop,  a  platform  with 
two  gold  chairs  and  a  fur  rug.  The  lighting  is 
odd,  but  rather  interesting.  The  gold  chair  sec 
tion  being  reddish,  indicating  the  character  of 
the  King,  and  Queen,  while  a  pale  lemon  light 
shines  on  the  features  of  Hamlet. 
DISCOVERED:  At  rise,  KING,  QUEEN,  HAMLET, 

POLONIUS  and  LAERTES. 
KING.     (In  continued  speech) 

What  wouldst  thou  beg,  Laertes, 
That  shall  not  be  my  offer,  not  thy  asking? 
The  head  is  not  more  native  to  the  heart, 
The  hand  more  instrumental  to  the  mouth 
Than  is  the  throne  of  Denmark  to  thy  father. 
What  wouldst  thou  have,  Laertes? 
LAERTES. 

Dread  my  Lord, 

Your  leave  and  favor  to  return  to  France. 

From  whence,  tho'  willingly  I  came  to  Denmark 

To  show  my  duty  in  your  coronation, 

Yet  now,  I  must  confess,  that  duty  done, 

My  thoughts  and  wishes  bend  again  toward 

France 

And  bow  them  to  your  gracious  leave  and 
pardon. 

71 


72  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

KING. 

Have  you  your   father's   leave.     What  says 

Polonius  ? 
POLONIUS. 

HP   Hath   mp    "Lord,    wrung    from   me   me   slow 

leave 

By  laboursome  petition,  and  at  last 

Upon  his  will  I  sealed  me  hard  consent; 

I  do  beseech  you,  give  him  leave  to  go. 
KING. 

Take  thy  fair  hour,  Laertes ;  time  be  thine, 

And  thy  best  graces  spend  it  at  thy  will ! 

But  now,  my  cousin  Hamlet,  and  my  son — 
HAMLET.     (Aside) 

A  little  more  than  kin,  and  less  than  kind. 
KING. 

How  is  it  that  the  clouds  still  hang  on  you? 
HAMLET. 

Not  so,  my  Lord ;  I  am  too  much  i'  the  sun. 
QUEEN. 

Good  Hamlet,  cast  thy  nighted  color  off, 

And  let  thine  eye  look  like  a  friend  on  Den 
mark. 

Do  not  forever  with  thy  veiled  lids 

Seek  for  thy  noble  father  in  the  dust. 

Thou  knowst  'tis  common;  all  that  live  must 
die, 

Passing  thru  nature  to  eternity. 
HAMLET.    Ay,  Madam,  it  is  common. 
QUEEN. 

If  it  be, 

Why  seems  it  so  particular  with  thee? 

(ROLLO,  who  has  intended  to  play  in  the  simple 
modern  manner,  is  by  this  time  infected  with 
the  old-school  work  of  the  others,  and  begins 
to  sing  his  lines.) 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  73 

HAMLET. 

Seems,  madam,  nay  it  is,  I  know  not  seems. 

(He  rises,  letting  his  cloak  fall  back  on  seat.) 
Tis  not  alone  my  inky  cloak,  good  mother, 
Nor  customary  suits  of  solemn  black. 
Nor  windy  suspiration  of  forced  breath, 
No,  nor  the  fruitful  river  in  the  eye, 
Nor  the  dejected  havior  of  the  visage 
Together   with   all    forms,   moods,   shapes   of 
grief— 

(GOLDIE  enters.) 

GOLDIE.    (Softly)    Rollo ! 
HAMLET. 

That  can  denote  me  truly,  these  indeed  seem 

For  they  are  actions,  that  a  man  might  play. 
GOLDIE.     (Louder)    Rollo! 
HAMLET. 

But  I  have  that  within,  which  passeth  show, 

These  but  the  trappings  and  the  suits  of  woe. 
KING.     (Taking  ROLLO'S  cue  to  ignore  GOLDIE) 

'Tis  sweet  and  commendable  in  your  nature, 
Hamlet,  to 

Give  these  mourning  duties  to  your  father. 
GOLDIE.       (Desperately)       Oh,     stop — wait — it's 

your  Grandfather 

HAMLET. 

Oh,  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 

(KING  and  QUEEN  rise.) 
HAMLET.     Sit  down! 

(KING  and  QUEEN  sit.) 

HAMLET. 

Thaw  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew! 


74  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

Or  that  the  everlasting  had  not  fix'd 

His  canon  'gainst  self  slaughter  O,  God !  God ! 

GOLDIE.  You  will  forgive  me  when  you  hear 
what  it's  about — you  must  come  with  me  at  once. 

ROLLO.  (Still  trying  to  save  the  play.  Severely 
to  GOLDIEJ  Begone,  girl — art  mad  before  thy  time? 

GOLDIE.  No,  no — oh,  please — you  must  believe 
me.  Your  Grandfather — has  sent  for  you — 

HAMLET.  (Angrily)  Get  thee  to  a  nunnery,  and 
quickly,  too. 

GOLDIE.    Surely  he's  more  important  than  all  this. 

ROLLO.  A  grandfather  is  important — even  neces 
sary — but  there  is  a  time  and  place  for  everything. 

GOLDIE.  But  he's  ill — very  ill — no  one  else  would 
tell  you. 

ROLLO.  (To  GOLDIE)  is  this  true?  Think  well 
before  you  speak — for  if  I  leave  this  scene,  my  future 
hopes  are  quite,  quite — blasted. 

GOLDIE.    Yes,  oh,  yes — it's  true ! 

ROLLO.  (In  a  casual  voice)  Then  that's  the  end 
of  it  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  (He  walks  off  the 
stage.) 

CURTAIN 


ACT    III 

SCENE   i :    The  morning   room  of  GRANDFATHER 
WEBSTER'S  house  at  Shelbrooke. 

An  old-fashioned  but  delightfully  furnished 
room.  Door  into  hall  L.U.E.  French  door  lead 
ing  into  garden  R.U.  Door  into  other  parts  of 
house  R.2E.  Fireplace  L.  In  front  of  this  a 
wing  chair,  facing  footlights.  On  rise  HORATIO 
up  L.  at  bell-cord. 

TIME:    A  few  hours  later. 

DISCOVERED  :  HORATIO  WEBSTER  and  AUNT  LANE. 

HORATIO.  And  you  suspected  nothing?  Here  the 
boy  was  on  his  way  to  the  devil  and  you  couldn't 
get  the  first  inkling  of  it.  (Ringing  bell  L.  Then 
comes  down,  sits  in  armchair.) 

AUNT  LANE.  If  I  had  suspected  anything,  I 
wouldn't  have  told  you,  Horatio.  (Seated  chair  L. 
of  table.) 

HORATIO.  Oh,  you  wouldn't?  Why  wouldn't 
you? 

AUNT  LANE.  If  you  could  see  your  face  you 
wouldn't  ask  that  question. 

HORATIO.  What's  the  matter  with  it?  Am  I 
flushed? 

AUNT  LANE.  You  certainly  are,  Horatio — you're 
angry  and  you  shouldn't  be.  You've  seen  cider 
poured  into  a  glass  of  milk. 

HORATIO.  What?  Never  saw  such  a  thing  in 
my  life.  What  the  devil  would  anyone  do  that  for? 

75 


76  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

AUNT  LANE.  That's  just  what  you're  doing, 
Horatio.  Your  anger  sets  up  just  such  a  fermenta 
tion  inside  of  you.  All  your  kindly  juices  are  af 
fected  by  it. 

HORATIO.  Fermentation  and  kindly  juices  be 
damned !  What's  he  going  to  do  ? — that's  what  I 
want  to  know.  Is  he  going  to  produce  some  idiotic 
damn-foolerie  with  my  name  on  it? 

AUNT  LANE.  No,  Horatio.  He  is  not  going  to 
play  in  something  he  has  written.  Not  at  all — not 
anything  like  that. 

HORATIO.  You've  kept  it  all  from  me — that's 
what  you've  done.  I  have  to  hear  the  news  from  a 
common  servant.  "Are  you  pleased  that  Mr.  Rollo 
is  playing  in  a  theaytre  this  evening?" — that's  the 
question  that's  put  to  me  just  after  my  dinner. 
Pleased!  Am  I  pleased! 

AUNT  LANE.  How  did  Bella  know  anything 
about  it?  I  suppose  she's  been  reading  Lydia's  let 
ters  to  me. 

HORATIO.  And  what's  Lydia  doing  all  this  time? 
Why  doesn't  she  come  home? 

AUNT  LANE.  I've  told  you,  Horatio,  she's  visit 
ing  friends.  You  ought  to  be  glad  to  have  her — 
I'd  like  to  go  to  town  oftener  myself.  It  was  a  great 
sacrifice  for  me  to  stay  at  home  to-night.  I  wanted 
to  go  to  a  concert  with  Lydia. 

HORATIO.  Oh!  Well,  I'm  sorry.  Perhaps  it 
might  not  have  been  a  very  good  concert. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Warily)  I  don't  like  your  man 
ner,  Horatio. 

(Enter  BELLA  R.) 

BELLA.    Did  you  ring,  sir? 

HORATIO.  I  did — long  ago.  My  toe  is  very  bad, 
Bella.  I  want  you  to  help  me  into  some  room  where 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  77 

I  can  be  alone.  I  don't  care  where — if  necessary,  I 
can  go  to  bed. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Rising  and  going  toward  door  L.) 
Don't  move,  Horatio.  If  you  want  your  cards 
they're  on  the  library  table.  I  would  advise  soli 
taire,  and  a  hot  toddy.  You  can  do  as  you  like. 
(Exits  with  dignity.) 

HORATIO.  (His  manner  changing.  Eagerly  to 
BELLAJ  Bella,  don't  you  think  it's  strange  we've 
heard  nothing  from  Mr.  Rollo?  Are  you  sure  the 
boy  you  gave  the  message  to  is  reliable? 

BELLA.  (Crosses  to  HORATIO.)  Sure  he  was, 
Mr.  Webster.  He  was  a  sweet  young  fellow — you 
could  tell  from  his  voice. 

HORATIO.  What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?  You 
made  him  write  the  message  down  ?  You're  sure  he 
wrote  it  down? 

BELLA.  Sure  he  did,  Mr.  Webster.  I  could  hear 
him  writing  it  down  as  plain  as  anything. 

HORATIO.     Nonsense!     What  was  it  he  said? 

BELLA.  He  said  he'd  run  as  fast  as  ever  he  could 
to  the  theaytre,  and  I  says,  "Give  the  message  to 
Mr.  Hewston,"  just  like  you  told  me,  "if  you  can't 
see  Mr.  Rollo." 

HORATIO.  Why  doesn't  he  answer,  then?  He 
must  have  got  it  by  now,  mustn't  he? 

BELLA.  How  do  I  know,  Mr.  Webster?  I  should 
think  he  would.  Maybe  Mr.  Rollo  is  sick. 

HORATIO.  I'm  afraid  not,  Bella.  I  wish  I  could 
think  so,  but  I'm  afraid  not. 

BELLA.  I  hope  I  won't  be  punished  for  what  I 
done — that's  ill,  Mr.  Webster.  Ten  dollars  ain't 
much  for  committing  a  deadly  sin. 

HORATIO.  You  did  it  to  save  Mr.  Rollo.  It  was 
a  very  worthy  act,  and  ten  dollars  was  a  good  price 
for  it.  But  he  thinks  only  of  himself — he  won't 
even  come  to  see  his  poor  old  grandfather  on  his 


78  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

deathbed.  That's  gratitude — that's  the  younger  gen 
eration  for  you. 

BELLA.  But  you  ain't  on  your  deathbed,  Mr. 
Webster. 

HORATIO.  If  I  were  it  would  make  no  difference. 
Don't  idolize  your  grandchildren,  Bella.  It's  a  great 
mistake.  Have  nothing  to  do  with  them.  That's 
the  best  way.  Send  them  a  dollar  occasionally  and 
let  it  go  at  that.  Don't  have  them  around  where 
you'll  see  them  and  get  attached  to  them. 

BELLA.  No,  sir,  I'll  certainly  look  out  for  them, 
after  seeing  yours,  Mr.  Webster — if  I  have  any. 

HORATIO.  (Not  altogether  pleased)  Now  that'll 
do.  You  go  and  sit  near  the  telephone  where  you 
can  hear  if  he  calls. 

(Enter  AUNT  LANE  L.  with  a  pack  of  cards.    Exit 
BELLA  R.) 

AUNT  LANE.  Here  are  your  cards,  Horatio.  You 
seem  to  endure  Bella's  society  very  well.  (Places 
cards  on  table.  Violent  ringing  at  bell  of  house 
door.)  Mercy !  Who  in  the  world  wants  to  get  into 
this  house  enough  to  ring  like  that? 

HORATIO.  (Excitedly)  Wait!  Let  me  hear! 
Perhaps,  Lane,  you'd  better  go  out. 

(Re-enter  BELLA  hurriedly.) 

BELLA.  (To  HORATIO,  breathlessly)  The  mes 
sage  was  delivered,  sir,  and  he  is  here.  Mr.  Rollo 
is  here.  He  run  ahead  of  me  into  your  bedroom. 
Mr.  Rollo,  he 

(Enter  ROLLO.  He  dashes  past  BELLA  into  the  room 
and  throws  himself  on  his  knees  beside  his 
grandfather.  HORATIO  lies  back  in  the  chair, 
pretending  faintness.  Exit  BELLA.  AUNT 
LANE  down  L.  of  c.) 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  79 

ROLLO.  (Glancing  up  at  AUNT  LANE,)  Isn't  there 
any  hope  for  him? 

AUNT  LANE.    Hope  ?    Why,  Rollo ! 

HORATIO.  (Weakly,  interrupting)  Yes — now 
that  you've  come,  my  boy — now  that  you've  come. 

ROLLO.  I  thought  you  were  dying,  Grandfather, 
(His  head  dozvn  on  HORATIO'S  knee.) 

HORATIO.    I  am,  my  boy. 

AUNT  LANE.  Dying?  Why,  your  grandfather 
has  no  more  idea  of  dying  than  I  have ! 

HORATIO.  (Explosively)  How  do  you  know 
what  ideas  I  may  have? 

ROLLO.  You  sent  for  me,  and  the  message  was 
so  frightful ! 

AUNT  LANE.     Horatio! 

ROLLO.    Don't !    Don't  speak  to  him  like  that. 

HORATIO.    No,  Lane — don't  speak  to  me  like  that. 

AUNT  LANE.  Is  it  possible,  Horatio,  that  you 
sent  for  this  poor  child  out  of  spite? 

HORATIO.  No,  I  did  not,  Lane.  You  know  noth 
ing  of  my  condition. 

AUNT  LANE.  I  know  that  no  one  could  eat  such 
a  dinner  as  you  did  and  be  ill. 

ROLLO.  (Surprised)  You — you  really  ate  your 
dinner,  Grandfather? 

HORATIO.  Hardly  a  mouthful,  Rollo.  Your  Aunt 
Lane  sat  behind  the  centerpiece,  the  large  fernery — 
she  couldn't  possibly  have  seen  what  I  ate. 

ROLLO.  (Quiet,  but  suspicious)  And  the  doc 
tor?  Why  isn't  the  doctor  here? 

AUNT  LANE.    We  haven't  had  the  doctor,  Rollo. 

ROLLO.     (Rising)     I  begin  to  see  it  all. 

HORATIO.     (Anxiously)     You  don't,  my  boy. 

ROLLO.  I  do.  Perhaps,  Aunt  Lane,  you  had  bet 
ter  leave  us. 


8o  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

AUNT  LANE.  Rollo,  my  poor  child,  come  into  the 
library  and  have  a  little  glass  of  port  and  a  biscuit 
before  you  talk  to  your  grandfather. 

ROLLO.    No — no. 

AUNT  LANE.  Then  let  me  bring  it  to  you  here. 
Just  a  little  glass  of  port  and  a  biscuit. 

ROLLO.  (Passing  her  D.  of  c.)  Oh!  You  talk  to 
me  of  port  and  biscuit!  Do  you  realize  what  I've 
done?  That  I've  left  my  play — my  theatre  full  of 
people,  my  manager,  my  actors — left  them  all  with 
no  excuse  for  it  in  the  world  that  I  can  ever  offer! 
And  myself,  most  of  all,  I've  left  myself  there  in  the 
theatre. 

HORATIO.    Well  spoken,  my  boy,  but  that  will  do. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Affected  but  controlling^  it)  My 
poor  child — remember,  Rollo,  that  nothing  is  as 
dreadful  or  as  important  as  it  seems. 

(Exit  AUNT  LANE  R.  ROLLO  goes  up  to  take  off 
coat.  Places  it  on  settee.  He  is  in  HAMLET 
clothes.) 

HORATIO.  The  first  sensible  thing  I  ever  heard 
your  Aunt  say.  Now,  my  boy,  the  thing  for  you  to 
do  is  to  be  reasonable.  You  told  me  you  wanted  to 
go  to  work. 

ROLLO.    (Coming  down  R.  of  HORATIO)     I  did. 

HORATIO.  (He  sees  the  Hamlet  costume)  Rollo ! 
What  are  you  doing  in  those  clothes  ? 

ROLLO.  These  are  my  working  clothes,  Grand 
father. 

HORATIO.  What !  You  are  wearing  the  costume 
of  Hamlet — the  Great  Dane  of  Elsinore !  (He  rolls 
the  zvords  out.)  My  God ! 

ROLLO.  Don't  disturb  yourself  about  it,  sir — it's 
past  and — it  won't  occur  again. 

HORATIO.  I  should  have  known — yes,  I  should 
have'  suspected — Hamlet ! 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  81 

ROLLO.  Grandfather,  did  you — did  you  send  that 
message — just  to  get  me  here? 

HORATIO.  Of  course  not,  my  boy — I  sent  it  be 
cause  I  knew — I  knew  it  would  kill  me  if  you  went 
on  with  all  that  foolishness.  If  I  had  known  you 
were  playing  Hamlet,  I  promise  you,  on  my  word  of 
honor,  I  would  be  stone  dead  as  I  sit  here. 

ROLLO.  (Going  closer  to  him)  Do  you  realize 
what  you  have  done,  Grandfather?  But  no,  I  can't 
believe  it.  You  must  be  very,  very  ill ! 

HORATIO.  Certainly,  I  am.  Many  a  man  at  my 
age  and  in  my  condition  would  have  his  family 
gathered  about  his  bedside — reading  prayers — for 
those  at  sea — or  something  of  the  sort. 

ROLLO.  (Turning  and  going  c.  Bitterly)  And 
you  can  joke  about  it ! 

HORATIO.  (Impatiently)  Well,  my  boy.  you 
know  how  it  is.  In  times  of  stress  we — we  rise  to 
an  occasion.  Sickness  and  death  and  things  like 
that  don't  trouble  us — not  as  much  as  usual. 

ROLLO.  (Still  and  tense)  No  one  would  tell  me 
— they  thought  the  play  was  more  important — all 
but  the  girl  who  was  going  to  play  Ophelia.  She 
ran  out  on  the  stage — I  was  just  beginning  my  long 
speech • 

HORATIO.  (With  a  look  of  satisfaction)  Stopped 
you  in  the  beginning,  did  she? 

ROLLO.  I  never  knew  how  much  I  cared  for  you, 
Grandfather.  I  left  the  scene  and  all  the  people  as 
if  they  hadn't  been  there — but  now,  I  believe  you 
have  ruined  my  life ! 

HORATIO.  No,  my  dear  boy,  I  have  not — you 
must  take  my  word  for  it — I  have  not. 

ROLLO.  My  career  as  an  actor  is  over.  I  may  be 
wrong  about  it — but  I  believe  it  is  over. 

HORATIO.  No,  I  think  you  are  right  about  that. 
But  do  not  regret  it  too  much,  Rollo.  Why,  my 


82  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

boy,  I — I  wanted  to  do  it  when  I  was  your  age — all 
people  who  have  any  talent  want  to  do  it. 

ROLLO.  (With  a  shred  of  hope)  You  think  I  have 
talent  ? 

HORATIO.  Why,  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  my  boy. 
You  would  have  probably  made  an  excellent  bad 
actor — just  as  I  would. 

BELLA.  (Enter  BELLA)  The  young  lady  wants 
to  know  if  she's  to  wait,  or  go  home  with  the  cab 
man? 

HORATIO.    Young  lady !    What  young  lady  ? 

ROLLO.  It's  Miss  MacDufT,  Grandfather,  the  girl 
who  was  to  play  Ophelia. 

HORATIO.    What,  and  you  brought  her  with  you? 

ROLLO.  We  ran  out  of  the  theatre  together.  I 
don't  know  whether  she  followed  me  or  I  dragged 
her  after  me 

HORATIO.  (To  BELLA)  Tell  her  to  come  in  here 
— I  wish  to  see  her. 

BELLA.    Yes,  sir. 

ROLLO.  No,  Grandfather.  She'll  understand 
your  not  seeing  her. 

HORATIO.     But  I  wish  to  see  her. 

BELLA.  The  cabman  says  it's  thirty-five  dollars 
and  he  wants  to  know  if  he's  to  wait. 

HORATIO.  Wait?  I  should  say  so!  Wait  for 
ever! 

(Exit  BELLA.) 

ROLLO.  He  drove  all  the  way  from  the  city, 
Grandfather.  When  I  told  him  it  was  a  matter  of 
life  and  death,  he  said  it  would  be  thirty-five  dollars. 

HORATIO.  You  told  him  ?  A  nice  way  to  make  a 
bargain!  It's  a  wonder  he  hadn't  said  a  hundred 
and  thirty-five ! 

ROLLO.    That's  what  I  thought.    Come  in,  Goldie. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  83 

(As  GOLDIE  hesitates  in  the  doorway,  ROLLO  crosses 
to  her.) 

GOLDIE.    You  sent  for  me,  Rollo? 

HORATIO.  (Looking  at  her  keenly)  So  ...  it's 
Ophelia.  (As  GOLDTE  stands  waiting  down  RV  ROLLO 
beside  her)  Rollo,  leave  me  alone  with  her. 

ROLLO.  No,  Grandfather — I  prefer  to  stay — I 
won't  listen  to  what  you  say,  but  I  prefer  to  remain. 

HORATIO.  What?  You  go  and  pay  the  cabman. 
Have  you  any  money  on  you  ? 

ROLLO.     No,  sir. 

HORATIO.  Get  it  from  your  Aunt  Lane  in  the 
library.  Tell  her  to  take  it  out  of  the  housekeeping 
money. 

ROLLO.  (Then  going  to  HORATIO)  Grandfather, 
not  a  word  to  Miss  MacDuff  that  will  hurt  her  feel 
ings  or  I  will  leave  this  house  forever. 

HORATIO.  Leave  this  room  now — that's  all  I  ask 
of  you.  I  have  met  this  sort  of  lady  before.  I 
know  how  to  treat  'em. 

ROLLO.  Your  actresses  were  not  like  Miss  Mac- 
Duff,  sir. 

HORATIO.    Will  you  go? 

ROLLO.  Yes,  I  will.  (Goes  to  GOLDIE)  He  wants 
to  speak  to  you  alone.  Don't  mind  anything  he  says. 
I  wouldn't  leave  you,  but  when  he  gets  angry  he 
sometimes  has  a  sort  of  fit. 

GOLDIE.     Wrhat  shall  I  do  for  him  when  he  has  it? 

ROLLO.  Oh,  he  won't  have  it  if  I  go.  Don't  be 
afraid  of  him  if  he  should  begin  to  jump  about  a 
little.  He  can't  run  very  fast — he  has  a  bad  toe. 
(ROLLO  takes  GOLDIE  to  HORATIO J  Grandfather, 
this  is  Miss  MacDuff — Goldie,  this  is  Grandfather. 
(To  GOLDIEJ  Are  you  all  right?  ( GOLDIE  nods. 
Exit  ROLLO  R.J 


84  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

HORATION.  (To  GOLDIEJ  Sit  down.  (She  does 
so.)  Are  you  going  to  marry  my  grandson? 

GOLDIE.  (Shocked)  Oh,  no,  no,  Mr.  Webster! 
I  have  no  idea  of  such  a  thing ! 

HORATIO.  Oh !  And  are  you  in  the  habit  of  run 
ning  about  the  country  at  night  with  young  men  you 
don't  intend  to  marry? 

GOLDIE.  No,  really.  I  never  did  such  a  thing 
before.  But  it  was  so  terrible  to  be  left  in  the 
theatre,  and  we  were  so  worried  about  you — and  the 
idea  of  playing  Ophelia  all  by  myself  was  so  dread 
ful 

HORATIO.  Why?  You've  played  Ophelia  before, 
haven't  you? 

GOLDIE.    No,  Mr.  Webster,  never. 

HORATIO.     Oh!    What  have  you  played? 

GOLDIE.  Wrhy,  nothing  very  much,  Mr.  Webster. 
I've  been  mostly — in  musical  shows. 

HORATIO.    Oh,  you  sing. 

GOLDIE.    No,  I  don't. 

HORATIO.  Don't  you  have  to  sing  to  be  in  musi 
cal  shows? 

GOLDIE.    No.    You — you  don't. 

HORATIO.  Oh — well,  what  are  the  qualifications 
necessary  ? 

GOLDIE.     Why,  different  things,  Mr.  Webster. 

HORATIO.    WThat  in  your  case? 

GOLDIE.    Why,  I  think  it  was  my  ankles — mostly. 

HORATIO.  Oh  !  And  your  qualifications  for  play 
ing  Ophelia  were  the  same,  I  suppose? 

GOLDIE.  Yes,  Mr.  Webster — I  mean,  I  hadn't 
any.  I  was  the  one  all  along  to — to  beg  your  grand 
son  not  to  play  Hamlet.  Not  to  be  an  actor  at  all — 
to — to  take  an  interest  in  airbrakes. 

HORATIO.  Airbrakes  ?  What  do  you  know  about 
airbrakes  ? 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  85 

GOLDIE.  Nothing — nothing  at  all — except  that 
they  need  to  be  improved. 

HORATIO.    Who  says  they  do? 

GOLDIE.    He  told  me. 

HORATIO.  Roilo?  (GOLDIE  nods.)  Well,  he'll 
be  a  great  help  to  the  business.  So  he  told  you  that. 
(Eyeing  her  suspiciously)  And  a  great  many  other 
things,  I  suppose. 

GOLDIE.    What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Webster? 

HORATIO.  Well,  enough  to  make  you  think  he 
was  a  pretty  desirable  young  man.  Come,  now, 
didn't  he?  He  told  you  that  he  had  a  large  country 
place. 

GOLDIE.  Yes,  Mr.  Webster.  He  told  me  about 
this  place  and  the  garden — and — you 

HORATIO.  I  see.  And  you  thought  it  would  be 
very  easy  to  annex  this  young  gentleman  and  his 
possessions 

GOLDIE.     No,  Mr.  Webter,  I  didn't. 

HORATIO.  Well,  it  might  be  hard — but  a  good 
business  stroke. 

GOLDIE.  (Rising  with  dignity,  almost  weeping) 
What  I  thought  doesn't  matter,  Mr.  Webster.  And 
what  you  may  think  of  me  doesn't  matter,  for  I 
shall  not  see  either  you  or  Rollo — after  to-night. 

HORATIO.  (Pleased)  There,  that's  right!  I  like 
to  see  you  show  some  spirit.  Now  sit  right  down 
by  me  again  and  tell  me 

GOLDIE.    No,  I  must  go,  Mr.  Webster. 

HORATIO.    Where  are  you  going? 

GOLDIE.  I  don't  know — but  before  I  go  I  want 
to  tell  you  that  Rollo  hasn't  the  slightest  idea  of — 
of  what  we've  been  talking  about.  Of — of  me. 

HORATIO.     W^hat  makes  you  think  he  hasn't? 

GOLDIE.  Well,  while  he  may  like  me,  Mr.  Web 
ster,  I  am  sure  there  are  others  that  he  likes  as  well — • 
or  better. 


86  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

HORATIO.  Others  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? 
Actresses  ? 

GOLDIE.  I  really  couldn't  tell  you — I  don't  mean 
anything. 

HORATIO.  Then  I'll  have  that  young  rascal  in 
here  and  make  him  tell  me.  Ring  the  bell ! 

GOLDIE.  No,  Mr.  \Vebster — you  must  promise 
me  first  that  you  won't  say  one  word  of  what  we 
have  been  talking  about.  In  the  first  place,  it  will 
make  Rollo  very  angry. 

HORATIO.     Dear,  dear,  how  terrifying! 

GOLDIE.  Promise  me  you  won't  speak  of — of  her 
—and  I'll  ring  the  bell. 

HORATIO.  Certainly  I  promise.  Not  a  word — just 
let  me  get  after  him.  (  GOLDIE  stops  suspiciously.) 
Just  about  the  airbrakes,  my  dear — that's  all. 

(  GOLDIE  rings  the  bell  L.) 

GOLDIE.  (On  her  way  to  door  R.)  Good-bye, 
Mr.  Webster. 

HORATIO.    Don't  go  any  further  than  the  library. 

(Enter  BELLA.     GOLDIE  goes  quickly  out  R.) 

BELLA.    Did  you  ring,  sir? 

HORATIO.  Find  Mr.  Rollo  and  tell  him  to  come 
here  at  once. 

BELLA.  Yes,  sir.  The  housemaid  says  she'll 
leave  if  he's  going  to  wear  those  clothes  around  the 
house. 

HORATIO.    You  tell  her  to  go  to  the  devil ! 

BELLA.     Yes,  sir. 

HORATIO.  Tell  her  if  she  wasn't  a  drivelling  idiot 
she  would  know  that  that  is  a  very  beautiful  costume 
— one  that  many  men  would  die  to  wear. 

BELLA.     Yes,  sir.     I  should  think  they  would — 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  87 

unless   someone   killed   'em   first.     (Exits  R.,   pass 
ing  above  ROLLO,  as  he  enters.) 

(Enter  ROLLO.     Crosses  L.  to  HORATIO.    Sits  R.  of 
HORATIO.) 

ROLLO.  Goldie  told  me,  Grandfather,  that  you 
wished  to  speak  to  me. 

HORATIO.  So — in  addition  to  everything  else, 
you've  been  making  a  damned  ass  of  yourself  over 
women.  (  ROLLO  puts  his  head  down  on  his  arm. 
HORATIO  is  alarmed.)  Rollo,  what  are  you  doing? 
You're  not  crying! 

ROLLO.    (Sitting  up)    No,  sir. 

HORATIO.  (Roughly  pulling  him  over  to  him) 
Don't  you  know  that  you're  all  I  care  about  in  the 
world?  Why  do  you  want  to  disgrace  me — raising 
Cain  all  over  New  York  City? 

ROLLO.  I'll  admit  that  I'm  an  utter  failure — and 
— and  I'll  go  into  the  business  of  selling  airbrakes 
at  once. 

HORATIO.  Do  you  suppose  I  want  an  utter  fail 
ure  selling  airbrakes?  I  wouldn't  have  you  in  my 
business. 

ROLLO.  (Without  spirit)  Perhaps  someone  will 
have  me,  somewhere. 

HORATIO.  (Conciliatory)  You're  very  young, 
Rollo — but  I  wouldn't  mind  your  marrying  at  all  if 
you'd  marry  someone  I  wouldn't  object  to. 

ROLLO.  Thank  you,  Grandfather — but  I'd  mind 
marrying  anyone  you  wouldn't  object  to,  I'm  sure — 

HORATIO.  No,  my  boy.  Now  tell  me — is  there 
anyone — have  you  anyone  in  mind? 

ROLLO.    No,  sir. 

HORATIO.  Come,  come,  my  boy,  don't  say  that.  I 
know  there  is  someone. 


88  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

ROLLO.  If  you  mean  Miss  MacDufT,  she  won't 
have  me.  I  just  asked  her  in  the  hall. 

HORATIO.    What  the  devil  did  you  do  that  for  ? 

ROLLO.  I  saw  you  had  been  making  her  cry.  Be 
sides — I  felt  like  it.  (Goes  to  bell  L.  and  rings.) 

HORATIO.  That  little  chorus  girl — you  asked  her 
to — to  marry  you? 

ROLLO.  (Coming  to  R.  of  HORATIO)  She's  a 
wonderful  girl,  Grandfather.  Her  Grandmother  was 
the  greatest  actress  in  England. 

HORATIO.  I  don't  believe  it.  What  was  her 
name? 

ROLLO.    Her  name  was  Mary  Mowe. 

HORATIO.  Mary  Mowe?  Rollo — I — I — of  all 
the 

ROLLO.  Stop,  Grandfather!  You  shall  not  say 
one  word  against  her ! 

HORATIO.     Oh,  shan't  I? 

ROLLO.    No,  sir — not  a  word. 

HORATIO.  How  do  you  know  what  I  was  going 
to  say? 

ROLLO.    I  can  imagine  it  was  nothing  good. 

HORATIO.  Oh,  you  can !  What  right  have  you 
to  imagine  what  I  was  going  to  say  ?  I  daren't  men 
tion  her  name  in  your  presence — is  that  it? 

ROLLO.    I  know  how  you  hate  actresses 

HORATIO.  You'll  never  know  now  what  I  was 
going  to  say — not  if  you  beg  me  on  your  knees. 

ROLLO.     What  was  it,  Grandfather? 

HORATIO.    Silence — you  have  deeply  offended  me. 

ROLLO.    I'm  very  sorry,  sir. 

HORATIO.  That  doesn't  alter  it.  (A  violent  ring 
ing  at  the  house  bell.)  Now  who's  that  at  this  hour 
of  the  night? 

ROLLO.     (Listening)     It's  Lydia ! 

LYDIA.  (Off)  Where  is  he  ?  Let  me  go  to  him  ! 
(Rushing  in.)  Rollo,  you  didn't  tell  me Oh, 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  89 

my  dear,  darling  Grandfather!  (She  kneels  by 
HORATIO,  enveloped  in  her  cloak.) 

ROLLO.  There's  nothing  to  be  excited  about,  Lyd. 
He's  not  sick  at  all. 

LYDIA.  Why,  what  do  you  mean?  I  saw  the 
message.  Hewston  showed  it  to  me. 

ROLLO.    I  know.    It  was  a  joke  or  something. 

LYDIA.    A  joke?    But  I  don't  understand. 

ROLLO.     Why,  where's  your  sense  of  humor? 

LYDIA.  You're  not  sick,  Grandfather!  But  how 
dreadful ! 

HORATIO.  Oh,  dreadful,  is  it?  You'd  rather  find 
your  old  Grandfather  on  his  death-bed  than  not? 

LYDIA.  No,  no,  Grandfather,  I  only  mean  I 
wouldn't  have  come  if  I  had  known.  (She  rises. 
Her  cloak  falls  back,  disclosing  the  Page's  costume.) 

HORATIO.  Lyclia,  what  have  you  got  on  ?  Did 
you  wear  those  clothes  to  the  concert? 

LYDIA.  Doesn't  he  know?  I  was  in  the  play, 
Grandfather.  This  is  my  Prologue  costume. 

HORATIO.  Prologue!  I  should  think  so.  (To 
ROLLO)  And  you  permitted  this? 

LYDIA.  No,  he  didn't.  I  made  him  let  me  do  it. 
(Going  to  ROLLO.  Softly)  Oh,  Rollo,  what  shall 
I  do  about  Mr.  Lucas? 

ROLLO.     (Briefly)     Forget  him ! 

LYDIA.    But  I  can't — he's  in  the  cab. 

ROLLO.  In  the  cab?  Have  the  driver  start  for 
New  York  as  quickly  as  possible. 

(Enter  BELLA  with  hot  toddy  which  she  sets  on 
table.) 

BELLA.  The  cabman  says  he  won't  go  back  to 
New  York  to-night.  It's  too  late  and  he  don't  know 
the  detours  good  enough. 

HORATIO.     What's  that?    Another  cab? 


90  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

LYDIA.  How  did  you  suppose  I  came,  Grand 
father  ? 

ROLLO.    How  much  is  it,  Lyd? 

LYDIA.    I  don't  know. 

ROLLO.  Oh !  Didn't  you  make  a  bargain  with 
him? 

LYDIA.  A  bargain!  When  Grandfather  was 
dying  ? 

HORATIO.  Just  one  more  surprise  for  me  now 
and  you  can  call  the  doctor,  for  I  shall  need  him! 

(As  if  in  answer  to  his  request,  LUCAS  stands  in  the 
doorway,  wearing  his  Laertes  costume.) 

ROLLO.     Here  it  is ! 

LUCAS.     I  beg  your  pardon. 

HORATIO.    Is  this  the  cabman? 

LYDIA.  (Falteringly,  to  LUCAS)  There's  nothing 
the  matter  with  Grandfather  at  all. 

ROLLO.  Grandfather,  this  is  Mr.  Lucas.  He  was 
in  the  play,  too,  as  you  see. 

LUCAS.  Delighted  to  meet  you,  sir,  Mr.  Webster ; 
and  more  glad  than  I  can  say  that  there's  nothing 
the  matter. 

HORATIO.  How  do  you  do?  Is  the  entire  com 
pany  here,  Rollo?  Because  if  so,  you  can  go  on 
with  the  play,  I  should  think. 

LUCAS.  (To  ROLLO,  drawing  him  aside)  I'm  in 
a  rather  difficult  position,  Mr.  Webster.  I  haven't  a 
cent  in  my  clothes  to  pay  the  cabman. 

ROLLO.  A  cent  wouldn't  do  you  very  much  good. 
(Raising  his  voice)  My  Grandfather  wouldn't  think 
of  allowing  you  to  pay  the  cabman.  (To  HORATIO) 
Aunt  Lane,  Grandfather? 

HORATIO.  I  suppose  so.  (Exit  ROLLO  R.  LUCAS 
crosses  L.  of  table.)  So  you  brought  my  grand 
daughter  out  here?  LIow  did  that  happen? 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  91 

LYDIA.  (Going  to  chair  R.  of  HORATIO.  She  sits) 
I  asked  him  to,  Grandfather.  Wasn't  it  dreadful 
of  me? 

LUCAS.  Not  at  all.  I  was  glad  to  be  of  service 
in  such  a  serious — I  mean — we  believed  it  to  be 
serious — occasion.  How  did  the  rumor  start? 

HORATIO.  Rumor — it  wasn't  a  rumor — I  was  very 
sick  indeed. 

LUCAS.     Oh,  I'm  sorry,  sir.     I  didn't  understand. 

HORATIO.  I'm  subject  to  sinking  spells  and  I  had 
one. 

LUCAS.     (Sympathetically)     I  see.     Your  heart? 

HORATIO.  (Wickedly)  No — my  toe.  Tell  me — 
how  was  Rollo  getting  on? 

LYDIA.    I  thought  he  was  splendid! 

LUCAS.  Oh,  he  did  very  well,  Mr.  Webster,  espe 
cially  when  he  was  stepped.  I  mean  he  had  just 
begun  to  let  himself  go.  Then,  of  course,  it  was  ter 
rible  for  us  all.  I  only  thought  of  myself  and  how 
to  get  off  the  stage.  And  when  the  opportunity 
came  to  run  out  of  the  theatre,  I  was  delighted,  really. 
Not  that  I  wasn't  deeply  distressed,  at  the  same  time. 

(Enter  AUNT  LANE.    LYDIA  crosses  quickly  to  her.) 

AUNT  LANE.  (Embracing  LYDIA)  Lydia,  my 
dear  child !  And  Mr.  Lucas,  this  is  delightful ! 

HORATIO.     Delightful,  is  it? 

AUNT  LANE.  I  had  no  idea  my  dull  evening  was 
going  to  turn  out  like  this. 

LUCAS.  Why,  thank  you,  Miss  Lane.  It  certainly 
is  delightful  to  see  you  again,  but  it  seems  terrible 
to  intrude  upon  you  like  this.  And  I'm  awfully 
afraid  I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  keep  me  overnight. 

AUNT  LANE.  Why,  of  course,  Mr.  Lucas.  Wre 
wouldn't  dream  of  letting  you  go.  Here's  a  nice 
hot  drink  I've  just  had  made  for  Mr.  Webster ;  you 


92  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

must  have  it.  (As  he  protests)  Yes,  you  must! 
You're  so  thinly  dressed.  (AuNT  LANE  presses  it 
upon  him.  He  takes  the  glass  reluctantly.) 

LYDIA.    Yes,  he  didn't  even  have  a  coat. 

LUCAS.  I  rarely  ever  wear  a  coat.  But  are  you 
sure  you  won't  have  this,  Mr.  Webster?  (Offering 
the  glass  to  HORATIO.) 

AUNT  LANE.  No.  He  wasn't  going  to  drink  it, 
were  you,  Horatio? 

HORATIO.     Evidently  not. 

AUNT  LANE.  He  was  quite  annoyed  with  me  for 
making  it  for  him. 

ROLLO.  (Enters  R.  Crosses  above  the  others  to 
HORATIO,)  Aunt  Lane  hasn't  the  money.  It's  $50, 
Grandfather,  but  the  cabman  is  willing  to  stay  all 
night  and  take  a  check  in  the  morning. 

HORATIO.     (Cries  out  sharply)    Ah! 

LYDIA.    Oh,  what  is  it,  Grandfather? 

AUNT  LANE.  It's  just  his  toe.  Come,  let  us  go 
into  the  library.  I  think  it  will  be  pleasanter  and 
your  Grandfather  likes  to  be  alone,  with  his  toe. 
Good-night,  Horatio. 

LYDIA.     Good-night,  Grandfather. 

LUCAS.  Good-night,  Mr.  Webster.  (They  go  out 
R.  and  leave  him,  LUCAS  carrying  the  toddy.) 

ROLLO.  Grandfather,  I  don't  suppose  you're  going 
to  use  the  car  to-night  ?  I'll  get  Jonas  up  and  drive 
to  the  city,  if  you've  no  objections. 

HORATIO.  Oh !  What  utter  damn  foolishness 
every  damn  thing  I've  had  on  my  mind  this  damn 
night  is ! 

(  ROLLO  rings  the  bell.) 

ROLLO.  Well,  at  least  my  damn-foolishness  won't 
disturb  you  any  further,  Grandfather.  I  won't  see 
you  again  for  a  long  time. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  93 

HORATIO.    What  do  you  mean  by  that? 
(Enter  BELLA  R.J 

BELLA.     Did  you  ring1,  Mr.  Webster? 

ROLLO.  Bella,  ask  Miss  Lane  for  a  wrap  for  Miss 
MacDufT.  I'm  taking-  her  back  to  the  city  to-night. 

BELLA.  Miss  Lane  has  lent  the  young  lady  a 
nightgown  and  put  her  to  bed  in  the  room  off  hers. 

ROLLO.    Can  I  stay  here  to-night,  Grandfather? 

HORATIO.  How  dare  you  ask  me  that  question? 
You  know  I  never  wanted  you  to  go  in  the  first 
place.  And  what  do  you  mean  by  "I  won't  see  you 
again  for  a  long  time"  ? 

ROLLO.  It  will  be  much  better,  Grandfather.  I 
shall  never  be  the  same  again.  I'd  just  be  a  gloomy 
spirit  moving  through  these  rooms. 

HORATIO.  Bella,  make  a  hot  drink  for  Mr.  Rollo 
and  one  for  me,  and  put  them  on  our  night  tables. 
Rollo,  my  boy,  you'll  feel  entirely  different  when 
you  get  those  clothes  off.  Lay  out  a  bright,  cheerful 
suit  of  pajamas  for  Hamlet,  Bella.  I  mean  for  Mr. 
Rollo. 

ROLLO.  (Sitting  sadly  in  chair  L.  of  table)  That's 
it,  just  plain — Rollo — Webster. 

CURTAIN 


ACT    III 

SCENE  2 :   The  same,  the  follounng  morning. 

AT  RISE:     Discovered,  BELLA  and  LYDIA.     BELLA 

has  a  large  box.     LYDIA  is  arranging  roses  in 

bowl  on  table  c. 

LYDIA.  What  is  it,  Bella?  (As  BELLA  enters  L. 
and  crosses  to  LYDIA.) 

BELLA.  It's  for  Mr.  George  Lucas,  marked 
"Special." 

LYDIA.  It's  his  clothes.  You  must  take  it  right 
up  to  him,  Bella.  Wait  a  minute!  (She  fastens  a 
rose  in  the  cord.) 

BELLA.  Mercy !  He'll  be  glad  enough  to  get  'em 
without  roses,  I  should  think. 

LYDIA.  Did  he  seem  to  enjoy  his  breakfast, 
Bella?  Did  he  say  anything  about  my  orange  mar 
malade  ? 

BELLA.  No,  he  just  swallowed  it  down.  He's 
too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  complain  about  any 
thing,  I  guess. 

LYDIA.  Complain  ?  Why,  except  that  it's  a  little 
burnt,  it's  the  best  I  ever  made.  Hurry  along, 
Bella.  (Enter  ROLLO  L.)  Rollo,  his  clothes  have 
come.  Soon  he'll  be  dressed  and  speaking  to  Grand 
father. 

ROLLO.     Who  ? 

LYDIA.  George.  Mr.  Lucas.  Oh,  Rollo,  if  you 
would  only  tell  Grandfather  what  a  splendid  man 
he  is! 

94 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  95 

ROLLO.  Why  should  I?  I  don't  know  what  a 
splendid  man  he  is.  What's  he  going  to  speak  to 
Grandfather  about? 

LYDIA.    About  me. 

ROLLO.  Good  heavens,  Lyd !  He  isn't  really  go 
ing  to  speak  to  Grandfather  seriously,  is  he? 

LYDIA.     Of  course  he  is.     Why  shouldn't  he? 

ROLLO.  Do  you  think  we  want  you  marrying 
men  like  that?  That  you've  only  known  a  few 
minutes  ?  Actors  !  Bad  actors,  at  that ! 

LYDIA.    He's  not  a  bad  actor. 

ROLLO.     Actors  are  unkind  to  their  wives,  Lyd. 

LYDIA.    How  do  you  know  they  are? 

ROLLO.  I  read  it  somewhere.  Lucas  will  be  un 
kind  to  his  wife.  He's  just  the  type.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  killed  her. 

LYDIA.  Why,  Rollo,  how  can  you  say  such 
things  ?  He  has  the  tenderest  heart !  And  he  loves 
birds  and  flowers. 

ROLLO.  Murderers  always  do.  It's  a  fact.  Birds 
come  and  sit  on  their  cell  windows  and  they  always 
have  an  old  flower-pot  with  a  blade  of  grass  in  it, 
or  something.  But  it's  after  they've  committed  the 
murder. 

LYDIA.  Oh,  I  think  you're  dreadful,  Rollo! 
You're  making  fun  of  a  sacred  thing — my  love  for 
George  Lucas. 

ROLLO.  Your  love?  Why,  Lyd,  you  dear  little 
soul,  you  know  no  more  about  love  .  .  . 

LYDIA.  Than  you  do,  I  suppose?  How  about 
Goldie  MacDuff?" 

ROLLO.  Why  bring  her  in  ?  What  has  she  to  do 
with  it? 

LYDIA.  Well,  you  think  you're  in  love  with  her, 
don't  you? 

ROLLO.  Be  quiet!  Don't  go  yelling  around  like 
that  about  love.  It's  disgusting. 


96  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

LYDIA.  Is  it?  I  don't  see  why  your  love  is  any 
more  sacred  than  mine. 

ROLLO.  You're  impossible !  But  I'm  fond  of  you 
just  the  same,  Lyd.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  you'd 
never  have  met  this  objectionable  fellow.  It's  my 
fault,  in  a  way,  and  it's  up  to  me  to  do  something 
about  it. 

LYDAI.  Rollo.  if  you  do,  I'll  never  forgive  you — 
never !  I  love  you  now  because  you've  brought  this 
great  happiness  into  my  life. 

ROLLO.  Go  easy,  dear.  I've  just  finished  my 
breakfast. 

LYDIA.     If  you  do  anything  to  separate  us 

ROLLO.  I  won't  have  to.  Grandfather  will  settle 
it.  Why,  Lucas  hasn't  got  a  cent. 

LYDIA.  How  do  you  know  he  hasn't?  He  told 
me  he  longed  for  his  own  place  in  the  hills  of  Sur 
rey.  How  can  you  long  for  a  thing  if  you  haven't 
got  it? 

ROLLO.     It's  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world. 

LYDIA.  And  he  said  he  loved  to  ride  his  horse 
with  the  wind  blowing  in  his  teeth,  or  something 
like  that.  So  he  must  have  a  stable.  (Sits  in  chair 
L.  of  table.  ROLLO  goes  to  her.) 

ROLLO.  The  wind  will  blow  in  your  teeth  on  a 
horse  from  a  livery  stable  just  as  well,  dear.  No,  you 
must  give  him  up.  Yes,  you  must.  But  I'll  take 
you  away.  We'll  go  on  a  trip  around  the  world. 

LYDIA.  How  can  we?  You  haven't  any  money. 
You've  spent  it  all  on  Hamlet. 

ROLLO.    We'll  take  yours  and  go. 

LYDIA.    We  couldn't  go  around  the  world  on  mine. 

ROLLO.  We  could  go  half-way  around  and  Grand 
father  would  send  for  us  by  the  time  we  got  to 
Singapore  or  some  such  place. 

LYDIA.  (Suspiciously)  Goldie  has  refused  you, 
I  suppose? 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  97 

ROLLO.  (Sadly)  We  won't  speak  of  her,  if  you 
don't  mind. 

LYDIA.  (Sympathetically)  She  doesn't  know 
what  a  darling  you  are.  Shall  I  tell  her? 

ROLLO.  (Going  u.c.)  No.  Here's  Grandfather. 
Do  you  want  to  speak  to  him? 

(Enter  HORATIO  L.) 

LYDIA.  (Rising,  going  to  garden  exit)  No,  I 
don't.  Good  morning,  Grandfather! 

HORATIO.  Good  morning!  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
attired  in  something  more  appropriate  than  the  cos 
tume  you  were  wearing  last  night. 

LYDIA.  And  I'm  glad  to  see  you  looking  more 
like  yourself  this  morning,  Grandfather. 

HORATIO.     Lydia,  where  is  your  hair  ? 

LYDIA.     I  left  it  in  New  York. 

HORATIO.    You  cut  it  off? 

LYDIA.  I  did  it  for  Shakespeare.  (Cheerfully  to 
ROLLOJ  The  iris  is  out.  Did  you  know  it? 

ROLLO.    Yes,  I  read  it  in  the  paper. 

LYDIA.  I'm  going  to  pick  some  for  Ophelia  to 
take  back  to  the  city.  (Exits.) 

HORATIO.    Lydia  seems  very  happy  this  morning. 

ROLLO.  Yes,  I'm  afraid  she  won't  be  happy  long. 
I  feel  I  ought  to  tell  you,  Grandfather.  ( HORATIO, 
sitting  at  table  R.,  sets  up  his  solitaire.)  Mr.  Lucas 
is  going  to  have  a  talk  with  you. 

HORATIO.    Who  is  he? 

ROLLO.  (Sitting  R.  of  HORATIO)  Why  don't  you 
remember  last  night,  Grandfather? 

HORATIO.     No,  I'm  trying  to  forget  it. 

ROLLO.  Mr.  Lucas  is  the  gentleman  who  brought 
Lydia  out.  The  man  in  the  tan  tights. 

HORATIO.     I  don't  care  to  remember  him. 

ROLLO.     But  Lydia  says   a  beautiful   thing  has 


98  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

come  into  her  life  and  she  means  him,  and  we've 
got  to  do  something  about  it. 

HORATIO.    Have  him  taken  to  the  train. 

ROLLO.  We  can't  do  that,  Grandfather.  If  he 
wants  to  talk  to  you,  I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  listen 
to  him. 

HORATIO.    I  don't  see  that. 

ROLLO.  If  you  refuse,  he  might  run  away  with 
her. 

HORATIO.    Oh,  he's  that  sort,  is  he? 

ROLLO.  I  don't  know  anything  about  him  except 
that  it  would  be  terrible  to  have  him  around  the 
house,  forever  reminding  us  of  last  night. 

HORATIO.  Ah,  there  it  is,  Rollo.  You  can't  do 
things  without  involving  others.  You  went  off  to 
the  city,  and  where  is  it  going  to  end  ? 

(Luc AS  stands  in  the  doorway  R.) 

ROLLO.  I  hope  it  is  going  to  end  here,  Grand 
father.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Lucas. 

LUCAS.     Am  I  intruding? 

ROLLO.  No,  not  at  all.  Grandfather,  you  re 
member  Mr.  Lucas? 

HORATIO.    Good  morning,  sir. 

LUCAS.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Webster.  I  hope 
you're  feeling  better  this  morning. 

HORATIO.  I'm  feeling  as  well  as  can  be  expected 
under  the  circumstances.  I  understand  you  wish 
to  speak  with  me.  Is  that  so? 

LUCAS.  Why,  yes,  Mr.  Webster.  Since  you  put 
it  that  way.  I  do. 

ROLLO.  Lydia  told  me  you  did.  And  I  told 
Grandfather. 

LUCAS.    Where  is  your  sister,  Mr.  Webster? 

ROLLO.  She's  in  the  garden,  waiting  for  the  iris 
to  come  out,  I  believe.  I'll  leave  you.  (Exits  L.) 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  99 

(HORATIO  continues  to  play  solitaire.) 

LUCAS.  (Crosses  to  HORATIO)  Yes,  Mr.  Web 
ster,  I  did  wat-t  to  see  you  about  something-  very 
important.  During-  the  weeks  we  have  been  thrown 
tog-ether,  I  have  become  greatly  interested  in  your 
granddaughter.  This  feeling  has  ripened  into  some 
thing  deeper. 

HORATIO.  Just  a  moment.  (Placing  a  card  with 
care.)  Yes,  go  on. 

LUCAS.  (A  little  embarrassed)  Yes.  This  feel 
ing  has  deepened  into  something  riper.  I  venture 
to  hope  that  my  sentiment  is  returned,  but  before 

assuring  myself  of  this (His  eyes  on  the  cards) 

Excuse  me,  Mr.  Webster,  but  you  could  put  that 
two  on  the  three. 

HORATIO.     Wrhere  ? 

LUCAS.  There.  The  two  of  clubs  on  the  three 
next  the  queen. 

HORATIO.  I  know  it.  I  don't  want  to.  You've 
said  nothing-  to  my  granddaughter? 

LUCAS.  No,  Mr.  Webster.  Nothing  serious.  Of 
course,  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  her  during  rehearsals. 
And  then  last  night 

HORATIO.     I  should  think  so. 

LUCAS.  Her  trouble  drew  us  together.  I  tried  to 
comfort  her,  naturally. 

HORATIO.  But  you  haven't  asked  her  to  marry 
you? 

LUCAS.  No,  Mr.  Webster,  I  give  you  my  word  I 
have  not. 

HORATIO.  Don't !  That's  my  advice.  She's  noth 
ing  but  a  child. 

LUCAS.  I'm  perfectly  willing  to  wait,  Mr.  Web 
ster. 

HORATIO.  Don't!  I  wouldn't  give  my  consent  if 
you  waited  until  she  was  a  hundred. 


ioo  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

LUCAS.    Oh,  you  object  to  me  for  some  reason? 

HORATIO.  I  do.  Sit  down.  You're  an  actor, 
and  I  don't  want  one  in  my  family. 

LUCAS.     How  about  your  grandson? 

HORATIO.  Rollo  is  not  an  actor.  And  he  never 
will  be.  He  has  left  the  stage  forever. 

LUCAS.  I  would  be  perfectly  willing  to  leave  the 
stage  forever,  Mr.  Webster. 

HORATIO.  Why  would  you?  Aren't  you  any 
good? 

LUCAS.  Well,  I  wouldn't  say  that  exactly.  But 
there  are  other  things  that  interest  me  far  more. 

HORATIO.     My  granddaughter? 

LUCAS.  Certainly.  But  I  was  thinking  of  some 
thing  else. 

HORATIO.     What  were  you  thinking  of? 

LUCAS.     I  was  thinking  of  steam  pumps. 

HORATIO.  You  don't  say?  Do  you  know  any 
thing  about  steam  pumps? 

LUCAS.  There's  nothing  I  don't  know  about 
them,  Mr.  Webster.  I  made  them  a  special  study. 
My  ambition  was  to  be  an  electrical  engineer,  but 
my  father  wanted  me  to  go  on  the  stage. 

HORATIO.    What  a  damned  fool! 

LUCAS.    Yes — dear  old  man. 

HORATIO.  Hm!  Well,  now,  I'm  very  much  in 
terested  in  a  steam  pump.  The  Dugdale — perhaps 
you've  heard  of  it. 

LUCAS.  No,  Mr.  Webster.  Is  it  used  in  Eng 
land? 

HORATIO.  No,  it  isn't.  But  it  ought  to  be.  Lucas, 
I'd  like  to  get  you  back  in  honest  work.  The  thea 
tre  isn't  honest.  There's  something  wrong  with 
everyone  connected  with  it.  Now,  how  would  you 
like  to  take  my  pump  to  England? 

LUCAS.    I  wouldn't  object  at  all,  Mr.  Webster. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  101 

HORATIO.  (Glancing  at  him,  and  then  looking 
away)  The  trouble  is,  you  don't  look  like  it. 

LUCAS.    Don't  look  like  a  steam  pump? 

HORATIO.    That's  it  exactly. 

LUCAS.  You  can  trust  me,  Mr.  Webster,  as  an 
actor,  to  simulate  what  I  fail  naturally  to  express. 

HORATIO.  You  mean  you  can  act  like  a  steam 
pump? 

LUCAS.    I'm  sure  I  can. 

HORATIO.  Lucas,  it's  too  bad.  You-'te  a  man  of 
some  quality — I  can  see  that — (Glancing  .  at  hiw. ) 
But  I  could  never  stand  it — no,  if  you  go  .to  Em-i-M-d 
in  my  interests  you  must  never  come  back — not,  at 
least,  until  I'm  dead. 

LUCAS.  I  understand,  Mr.  Webster — but  you'll 
let  me  know,  won't  you? 

HORATIO.  I'll  tell  them  at  my  New  York  office, 
17  Broome  Street,  that  you're  connected  with  us — 
in  a  business  way. 

LUCAS.  Certamly,  Mr.  Webster.  I  understand. 
You  don't  object  to  my  saying  good-bye  to  your 
granddaughter,  Mr.  Webster? 

HORATIO.  Delighted  to  have  you.  But  don't  make 
it  long,  you  know.  The  longer  you  make  it  the 
harder  it  will  be  for  me 

LUCAS.    I'll  make  it  very  short,  Mr.  Webster. 

HORATIO.  And  you'll  take  the  steam  pump  over 
to  England? 

LUCAS.    (Rising)    It's  not  romantic,  but  I  will. 

HORATIO.  (Rising)  It  may  not  be  romantic,  but 
it's  solid — it's  utilitarian. 

LUCAS.  (Smiling)  A  steam  pump?  Oh,  come, 
Mr.  Webster.  As  man  to  man — I  k-ow  of  nothing 
so  temperamental.  Good-bye.  (Shaking  hands.) 
And  I  hope  I  won't  come  back  for  years — really  I 
do.  (Exits  into  garden.) 


102  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

HORATIO.  Damn  it  all — there's  something  to  him ! 
That's  the  worst  of  it. 

(HORATIO  exits  L.    Enter  BELLA  and  STEIN  R.) 

BELLA.  (At  door)  Just  step  in  here,  please. 
(STEIN  enters.)  Will  he  know  who  you  are? 

STEIN.     Oh,  yes.     He  knows  me. 

BELLA.  You  haven't  any  books  to  sell  or  some 
thing  of  that  kird? 

STEIN.  No,  I'm  sorry.  But  I  didn't  bring  any 
books  with  me. 

BELLA.  He  wouldn't  have  seen  you  if  you  had, 
that's  all. 

STEIN.  (L.)  It  is  young  Mr.  Webster  that  I 
wish  to  see,  you  understand.  .  .  . 

BELLA.    Oh,  Mr.  Rollo — just  a  moment. 

STEIN.    (Gently)    Did  the  old  man  die  last  night? 

BELLA.  I  don't  know.  He  ain't  dead  this  morn 
ing. 

(Exit  BELLA  R.    Enter  GOLDIE  R.    She  is  wearing  a 
morning  dress  of  LYDIA'S.) 

GOLDIE.  (Surprised  to  see  him)  Oh,  Mr.  Stein — • 
I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  .  .  . 

STEIN.  Goldie !  So  this  is  where  you  came  when 
you  went. 

GOLDIE.  (D.  R.  to  STEIN)  Yes — you  must  take 
me  back  to  the  city  with  you.  When  are  you  go 
ing? 

STEIN.  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Webster.  After  I  see 
him  I  expect  to  go.  What  are  you  doing  here  ? 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  ought  never  to 
have  come. 

STEIN.    Was  you  invited? 

GOLDIE.     No,  I  wasn't.     I  came  last  night  with 


HOLLO'S  WILD  OAT  103 

Mr.  Webster.  I  knew  you  would  be  terribly  angry 
with  me  for  breaking  up  the  show — and  then  I  was 
so  worried  about — Mr.  Webster's  grandfather. 

STEIN.  Oh.  Well,  I'm  through  with  you  for 
Shakespeare,  Goldie — but  put  on  your  hat — and  I 
will  maybe  get  you  into  something — if  it  is  only  a 
railroad  train. 

GOLDIE.  (Going  toward  door  R.)  Thank  you  so 
much,  Mr.  Stein. 

(Enter  ROLLO  L.    Crosses  to  GOLDIE  at  door  R.) 

ROLLO.  (Plainly  nervous,  but  controlling  him- 
self)  Good  morning,  Mr.  Stein.  Good  morning, 
Goldie — I  hope  you  slept  well. 

GOLDIE.  I  didn't  sleep  at  all.  And  I  was  so  fright 
ened  when  I  woke  up. 

ROLLO.    I'm  sorry. 

GOLDIE.  Mr.  Stein  is  going  to  take  me  home. 
But  first,  I'm  to  see  your  Grandfather.  He  sent 
this  note  to  me  this  morning.  (Gives  ROLLO  note.) 

ROLLO.  (Reading)  "Meet  me  near  the  large 
chair  in  the  sitting  room  at  ten  thirty  promptly." 
Do  you  wish  me  to  be  here? 

GOLDIE.  I  don't  think  your  being  here  would  do 
any  good. 

ROLLO.    Are  you  afraid  of  him? 

GOLDIE.  Not  very.  Good-bye,  Rollo,  if  I  don't 
see  you  again. 

ROLLO.  (Taking  her  hand)  Oh !  You  can  say 
good-bye  like  that?  After  all  we've  been  through 
together  ? 

GOLDIE.  Why,  there  isn't  any  other  way  to  say 
good-bye,  Rollo,  but  just  to  say  it,  is  there? 

ROLLO.  Sometimes  there  isn't.  (He  drops  her 
hand.  GOLDIE  goes.) 


104  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

STEIN.  (Good-naturedly)  Well,  Mr.  Webster, 
how  do  you  feel  this  morning? 

ROLLO.  Mr.  Stein,  if  there's  anything  I  can  do 
about  last  night,  just  let  me  know — and  I'll  do  it.  I 
feel  worse  than  you  possibly  can.  I 

STEIN.    Have  you  seen  the  papers  ? 

ROLLO.     No,  I  had  them  all  destroyed. 

STEIN.     It  don't  matter — I  have  the  notices. 

ROLLO.     I  beg  that  you  will  spare  me,  really. 

STETN.  Rut  you  don't  understand,  Mr.  Webster 
— the  notices  are  all  favorable.  (Taking  out  paper 
notices.  Sits  L.  of  table  c.)  This  is  Fume — you 
know  how  irritable  he  is — he  is  crazy  about  us. 

ROLLO.  (R.  of  table  c.)  Just  a  moment,  Mr. 
Stein.  Did  the  performance  go  on,  after  I  left? 

STEIN.  Sure  we  went  on.  (Reads)  "All  doubts 
of  the  commercial  value  of  Shakespeare  were  dis 
pelled  last  night  at  the  Oddity  Theatre,  where  Ham- 
let  was  produced  by  the  Rollster  Producing  Com 
pany,  Incorporated." 

ROLLO.  But  how  could  you  have  gone  on  after  I 
left? 

STEIN.  Wait !  (Reads)  "Mr.  Rollster  appeared 
in  the  name  part.  The  indisposition  of  the  young 
man  was  noticeable  from  the  first." 

ROLLO.  Stop — did  you  say  was  noticeable  from 
the  first? 

STEIN.    "From  the  first " 

ROLLO.  (Taking  paper)  "From  the  first " 

(Waving  STEIN  off  as  he  reads)  "When  the  im- 
pressario  announced  that  he  had  withdrawn  from 
the  cast  and  asked,  'Is  there  a  Hamlet  in  the  house  ?' 
the  response  was  almost  unanimous,  ard  a  favorable 
comment  on  the  classical  education  of  our  English 
speaking  public."  Why,  Mr.  Stein,  this  is  pure  sar 
casm — you  don't  take  this  seriously 

STEIN.     We  are  taking  money  at  the  box  office 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  105 

seriously,  Mr.  Webster.  You  haven't  come  to  what 
was  the  surprise  of  the  evening.  Read  it — I  like  to 
hear  it  again. 

ROLLO.  "The  surprise  of  the  evening  was  Mr. 
James  Hewston,  who  was  found  to  be  in  Mr.  Roll- 
ster's  dressing  room  and  perfectly  conversant  with 
the  role.  From  the  moment  he  stepped  upon  the 
stage  the  house  was  in  an  uproar."  (Looks  up  in 
astonishment  at  STEIN J  Hewston  played  the  part? 

STEIN.  (Rising,  goes  to  ROLLO)  The  biggest 
laughing  hit  in  the  world — that's  what  it  is.  I  will 
say — that  you  were  not  as  funny  in  the  part  as  I 
thought  you  would  be. 

ROLLO.  Thanks.  What  is  it  you  want  of  me, 
Mr.  Stein — my  time  is  limited. 

STEIN.  I  want  you  to  persuade  Hewston  to  stay 
in  the  part.  He  isn't  as  pleased  as  I  am  over  the 
way  it  went. 

ROLLO.     Oh,  he's  not? 

STEIN.  You  tell  him,  Rollo,  that  people  always 
laugh  more  or  less  over  these  old  shows — after  all, 
how  could  anyone  that  lived  as  long  ago  as  Shakes 
peare  know  what  would  be  funny  now? 

ROLLO.     Where  is  Hewston? 

STEIN.  He  came  on  the  same  train  as  I  did — but 
he  took  a  walk  from  the  station,  I  guess.  He  says 
he  was  nervous. 

ROLLO.  I'll  see  him  when  he  comes.  (As  HORA 
TIO  enters  door  L.)  Grandfather,  this  is  Mr.  Stein. 

STEIN.  I  have  always  wanted  to  meet  you,  Mr. 
Webster. 

HORATIO.  Glad  to  meet  you.  Sorry,  I  have  a  very 
important  engagement  this  morning. 

ROLLO.  WTould  you  mind  stepping  outside  a  mo 
ment? 

STEIN.  Not  at  all.  Come  with  me  ard  T  will  fin 
ish  telling  you.  Mrs.  Park-Gales  was  Ophelia  and 


106  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

when  she  got  mad — believe  me,  it  meant  something ! 
As  for  the  Queen,  you  will  laugh  your  head  off 

when   I  tell  you   who  doubled  in   the   Queen 

(Exit  STEIN  and  ROLLO.) 

(HORATIO,  looking  at  his  watch,  seats  himself  in  th? 
large  chair  RV  expecting  GOLDIE.  Enter  AUNT 
LANE.  HORATIO  hears  her.) 

HORATIO.  (Thinking  it  is  GOLDIE)  Come  here, 
my  dear,  and  sit  by  me. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Crosses  to  him)  I  will,  Horatio. 
I  want  you  to  make  out  a  check  for  the  eighty-five 
dollars  I've  spent  out  of  my  housekeeping  money 
for  cabs. 

HORATIO.  Eighty-five  dollars!  I  thought  it  was 
thirty-five. 

AUNT  LANE.  (Sitting  R.  of  HORATIOJ  There 
were  two — the  first  was  thirty-five  and  the  second 
was  fifty. 

HORATIO.  I'll  attend  to  it  later,  Lane.  I  don't 
wish  to  be  disturbed  now. 

AUNT  LANE.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  disturb 
you  about  something  else,  too,  Horatio.  Coming 
through  the  garden  a  few  minutes  ago  I  saw  Lydia 
and  Mr.  Lucas  on  the  bench  by  the  iris  bed.  They 
were  sitting  in  perfect  silence. 

HORATIO.  Well,  what  of  it?  If  they  couldn't 
think  of  anything  to  say  to  each  other,  how  else 
could  they  sit  ? 

AUNT  LANE.  It  was  not  because  they  couldn't 
think  of  anything  else  to  say,  Horatio.  It  was 
because  they  didn't  need  to  say  anything.  Besides, 
he  was  holding  her  hand. 

HORATIO.    I  knew  it. 

AUNT  LANE.  Yes,  I  believe  she's  madly  in  love 
with  him. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  107 

HORATIO.  Rubbish !  Madly  in  love — a  child  like 
Lydia  madly  in  love ! 

AUNT  LANE.  Young  girls  love  very  deeply, 
Horatio.  Well,  at  least,  he's  very  handsome,  and 
we  reed  some  handsome  men  in  Shelbrooke.  I 
don't  think  there's  one. 

HORATIO.  Lane,  do  be  quiet,  it's  all  been  attended 
to,  I'm  going  to  send  him  to  England  next  week. 

(Enter  LYDIA  through  French  door.) 

AUNT  LANE.  (Rising,  coming  down  c.)  It's 
cruel. 

LYDIA.  Aunt  Lane,  I'm  so  happy !  I'm  so  happy, 
Grandfather!  What  did  you  say  to  him — to  Mr. 
Lucas?  He's  so  happy. 

HORATIO.  Is  he?  I'm  going  to  send  him  to  Eng 
land,  my  dear.  I'm  doing  it  for  the  best.  That's 
all  I  can  say. 

LYDIA.  I'm  sure  you  are.  But  he'll  come  back. 
I  know  he'll  come  back.  I  knew  it  when  he  said 
"Goodbye"  to  me  in  the  garden.  He  said  it  so 
strangely. 

HORATIO.  (Irritated  by  her  cheerfulness)  Strange 
ly — oh,  yes,  of  course.  Everything  to  a  young  girl 
is  strange — it  has  to  be  or  it  wouldn't  be  interest 
ing 

AUNT  LANE.  There,  Horatio,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  a  young  girl  you  wouldn't  be  in  existence. 

HORATIO.    What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

AUNT  LANE.    Your  mother. 

HORATIO.     My  mother  was  a  sensible  woman. 

AUNT  LANE.  (To  LYDIA,  sympathetically)  How 
do  you  mean,  darling,  he  said  "Goodbye"  to  you 
strangely  ?  Did  he — kiss  you  ? 

LYDIA.     Oh  no — only  said — "Darling!" 

AUNT  LANE.    He  said,  "Darling,  goodbye?" 


io8  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

LYDIA.  (Gently  correcting  her)  "Goodbye,  dar- 
ling." 

HORATIO.  (Exasperated)  Be  sure  you  get  it 
right  between  you.  As  if  it  made  the  slightest  dif 
ference. 

LYDIA.  No — nothing  makes  the  slightest  differ 
ence  because  he  loves  me.  I  shall  sit  on  the  garden 
bench  by  the  iris  bed  and  think  of  him  every  day 
until  he  comes  back.  (  LYDIA  starts  off  L.) 

HORATIO.  Well,  I'm  glad  she's  happy,  but  I  want 
the  garden  bench  moved  away  from  the  iris  bed. 

AUNT  LANE.  The  garden  bench  will  not  be 
moved,  Horatio. 

(Enter  GOLDIE  R.) 

GOLDIE.    (Surprised  to  see  LYDIA)    Miss  Bouton. 
LYDIA.    I'm  not  really,  I'm  his  sister. 
GOLDIE.     His  sister! 

LYDIA.  Goldie,  he's  such  a  darling,  he  told  me 
not  to  tell  you,  but  he  is 

(Exit  LYDIA  into  garden.) 

AUNT  LANE.  Miss  Bouton  was  just  a  joke,  we 
didn't  want  anyone  to  know. 

HORATIO.  Lane,  I  have  an  appointment  with  this 
young  lady.  Will  you  go  into  the  garden  ? 

AUNT  LANE.  (To  GOLDIE  'with  dignity)  I'll  be 
in  the  library,  my  dear,  if  you  should  need  me. 

(Exit  AUNT  LANE  R.) 

HORATIO.    Did  I  make  you  cry  last  night? 
GOLDIE.    Yes,  Mr.  Webster.    Just  a  little. 
HORATIO.    I'm  sorry.    Come  here.    (She  goes  to 
sit  in  chair  L.  of  table  c.)    No,  here.    (She  goes  to 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  109 

chair  R.  of  HORATIO  and  sits.)  I  sent  for  you  be 
cause  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  few  questions. 

GOLDIE.    Yes,  Mr.  Webster. 

HORATIO.  Questions,  my  dear,  relating  to  your 
grandmother. 

GOLDIE.    Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Webster. 

HORATIO.  (Almost  timidly)  Did  she — er — did 
she  ever — mention  my  name? 

GOLDIE.    What  is  your  name,  Mr.  Webster? 

HORATIO.  Horatio !  But  she  always  called  me 
"Horry." 

GOLDIE.  Well,  you  see  I  was  so  young  when  I 
left  England,  but  I'm  sure  she  did — to  my  mother 
anyway — did  you  know  Grandma  when  she  was 
playing  ? 

HORATIO.  Yes,  that  was  when  I  knew  her.  The 
beautiful  Mary  Mowe — you  have  a  trace  of  her — 
but  not  much,  my  dear.  Not  much. 

GOLDIE.    Oh,  no,  I'm  not  like  grandma. 

HORATIO.  Mary  was  the  most  exquisite  Ophelia 
— how  I  wept  over  her  mad  scene. 

GOLDIE.  You  would  weep  over  mine — but  it 
would  be  for  a  very  different  reason,  Mr.  Webster. 
I  simply  can't  act — I  don't  like  it — and  I  can't. 

HORATIO.  Can't  you  now?  What  do  you  like 
to  do? 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  I  don't  know,  really — I  never  had 
time  to  do  anything  I  like — I  love  children  and 
flowers  and — my  sweet-grass  sewing  basket — I  love 
to  sew — and — and  put  initials  on  things! 

HORATIO.  (Amused)  Do  you  now.  Poor  little 
Mary — but  your  name  isn't  Mary. 

GOLDIE.  Yes,  Mr.  Webster,  it  is.  They  call  me 
Goldie  but  I  was  named  after  Grandma. 

HORATIO.  Oh,  if  she  had  only  been  more  like 
you. 

GOLDIE.    Oh,  dear — no  one  ever  said  that  before. 


i io  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

HORATIO.  I  would  have  given  her  all  the  flowers 
and  children  and  sewing  baskets  and  initials  in  the 
world — but  she  wouldn't  have  them. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  really,  Mr.  Webster?  Was  it — that 
way? 

HORATIO.  That's  the  way  it  was,  my  dear — if  I 
had  waited — everything  might  have  been  different. 

GOLDIE.  I  might  have  been  your  granddaughter, 
Mr.  Webster — with  some  little  changes. 

HORATIO:  Yes,  that's  true.  And  now  history  re 
peats  itself — you  refuse  my  grandson.  He  told  me 
you  did — last  night — and  I  couldn't  get  a  word  out 
of  him  about  that  lady  you  gave  me  to  suppose  he 
was  interested  in. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  did  you  speak  of  her — when  you 
promised  me  you  wouldn't? 

HORATIO.  Certainly  I  did.  Promises  like  that 
are  only  made  to  be  broken. 

(Enter  ROLLO  u.c.  from  garden.) 

ROLLO.  Grandfather — Hewston  is  here.  I  think 
perhaps  we'd  better  see  him  together. 

HORATIO.  Why,  what  has  happened  to  make 
Hewston  so  formidable? 

ROLLO.    Mr.  Stein  has  happened 

GOLDIE.  (Crosses  R.c.J  Oh — and  I'm  going  back 
to  town  with  him. 

ROLLO.    He's  gone. 

GOLDIE.    If  someone  would  take  me  to  the  train? 

ROLLO.  (Crosses  to  her)  Someone  will,  will  you 
wait  for  me  in  the  library?  (She  hesitates.  ROLLO 
speaks  firmly.)  You  will  wait  for  me  in  the  library ! 

(Exit  GOLDIE.J 
ROLLO.     (Crosses  to  chair  R.  of  HORATIO  and 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  in 

sits)  They  want  Hews  ton  to  continue  in  the  part 
of  Hamlet,  Grandfather. 

HORATIO.  (Who  is  pleasantly  preoccupied,  starts) 
Hewston  !  To  continue  in  what  ? 

ROLLO.  It  seems  he  went  on  and  played  the  part 
last  night — he  was  very  amusing,  so  they  say. 

HORATIO.    Amusing ! 

ROLLO.  We  must  try  to  persuade  him  not  to, 
Grandfather — they  will  pay  him  a  lot  to  do  it — but 
I  think  we  owe  it  to  Shakespeare  not  to  allow  our 
butler  to  make  him  a  laughing  stock. 

HORATIO.  Why,  certainly — we  can  have  him  put 
in  an  insane  asylum  without  any  trouble,  I  should 
think.  Hewston  playing  Hamlet ! 

(Enter  HEWSTON  from  the  garden.) 

HEWSTON.    Pardon  me,  sir.    May  I  come  in? 

ROLLO.  Come  in,  Hewston — we  were  expecting 
you. 

HORATIO.  What  is  it  you  want  to  do,  Hewston? 
(To  ROLLO )  Remember  you  are  a  witness. 

HEWSTON.  (D.R.)  I  wish  to  return  to  service, 
sir. 

HORATIO.    What  ? 

HEWSTON.  (To  ROLLO J  I  have  left  everything 
in  order  in  the  studio,  sir.  I  do  not  wish  to  stay 
with  anyone  connected  in  any  way  with  the  theatre. 

ROLLO.    Really? 

HEWSTON.  I  am  crushed,  sir.  I  have  played  the 
greatest  part  in  the  world — and  during  the  soliloquy, 
they  laughed  at  me — they  laughed ! 

HORATIO.  (Unable  to  restrain  himself)  Good — 

good fRoLLO  reproves  him  with  a  glance)  I 

mean  horrible,  horrible ! 

HEWSTON.    The  times  have  changed,  sir.    There 


H2  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

is  no  appreciation  of  greatness — the  stage  has  been 
debased. 

ROLLO.    I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Hewston. 

HEWSTON.  I'm  through  with  it — I  would  like 
you  to  give  me  a  reference,  sir. 

HORATIO.  Would  you  like  to  come  back  here, 
Hewston  ? 

HEWSTON.    Yes,  sir. 

HORATIO.    You  won't  need  Hewston,  Rollo? 

ROLLO.  No,  sir — I'm  going  on  a  trip  around  the 
world. 

HORATIO.  I  see.  Consider  yourself  re-engaged 
and  your  wages  raised  to  any  reasonable  figure, 
Hewston. 

HEWSTON.  Yes,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir.  (Starts  R. 
to  door.) 

ROLLO.  Tell  Miss  MacDuff  I  want  to  speak  to 
her,  Hewston. 

HEWSTON.     Long  distance,  sir? 

ROLLO.  No,  she's  in  the  library.  (As  HEWSTON 
is  about  to  exit.  Crosses  to  HEWSTON)  Hewston, 
I  feel  I  ought  to  thank  you  for  what  you  did  last 
night. 

HEWSTON.  I  beg  that  you  won't,  sir.  I'd  rather 
we  never  referred  to  the  subject  again. 

ROLLO.  I  feel  the  same  way  myself,  Hewston — 
but  we  shouldn't.  We  should  learn  something — 
from  our  experience. 

HEWSTON.     Yes,  sir. 

ROLLO.  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  Hamlet  is 
a  thing  to  be  played  in  the  privacy  of  one's  bedroom, 
Hewston.  We  should  no  more  do  it  before  an  audi 
ence  than  we  should  pray  before  them. 

HEWSTON.    Perhaps  you're  right,  sir. 

ROLLO.  Hewston — just  one  question — what  did 
you  wear? 

HEWSTON.    My  father's  old  Hamlet  costume,  sir. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  113 

I  had  taken  it  to  the  theatre  and  hung  it  beside 
yours. 

ROLLO.  (Not  pleased)  Oh — you  thought  you 
might  be  called  upon. 

HEWSTON.  No,  sir.  Just  for  old  times'  sake — no, 
sir — if  I  had  expected  to  wear  it,  I  would  have  had  it 
darned. 

ROLLO.     Oh,  Hewston — good  Heavens! 

HEWSTON.    (Agreeing)    Yes,  sir. 

ROLLO.  I  shall  try  and  make  it  up  to  you  in  some 
other  way,  Hewston.  What  have  you  done  with 
your  costume? 

HEWSTON.  I  have  laid  it  away  in  moth  balls, 
sir. 

ROLLO.  Lay  mine  with  it.  (He  holds  out  his 
hand,  which  HEWSTON  takes  silently.  HEWSTON 
exits  R.  ROLLO  comes  back  L.  of  table.) 

HORATIO.  You  were  so  high  and  mighty  with  me 
last  night — you  never  gave  me  a  chance  to  tell  you, 
Rollo,  my  actress  was  Mary's  grandmother. 

ROLLO.     Who  is  Mary? 

HORATIO.     Mary  is  Ophelia. 

ROLLO.  Grandfather !  You  don't  mean  that  your 
actress  was  my  Goldie's  grandmother? 

HORATIO.  No.  Your  Goldie's  grandmother  was 
my  actress.  Ah.  those  days  in  London,  Rollo,  the 
happiest  days  of  my  life. 

ROLLO.  (Interested)  Why  didn't  you  stay  there, 
Grandfather? 

HORATIO.  Mary  wouldn't  have  me,  she  wouldn't 
leave  the  stage  for  anybody  and  I  came  back  to 
America  and  married  your  grandmother.  Then 
Mary  relented — wrote  me  letters,  such  beautiful  let 
ters — but  grandma  was  firm — I  never  saw  her  again. 

ROLLO.  It's  awfully  sad,  Grandfather,  if  you'd 
stayed  in  London  I  might  have  been  a  good  actor. 

HORATIO.     (Rises  and  starts  toward  the  French 


114  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

door.  ROLLO  to  c.)  Yes.  If  you  are  going  to  take 
a  trip  around  the  world,  my  boy,  I  suppose  you  want 
to  see  if  you  can  persuade  Mary  to  go  with  you. 
Well,  I  have  no  objections. 

ROLLO.    That's  too  bad,  sir,  because  she  has. 

HORATIO.  Don't  give  up  just  because  she  don't 
want  you.  Why,  I  asked  her  grandmother  at  least 
a  hundred  times — and  I  know  now  that  I  lost  her 
through  my  lack  of  persistence.  Persistence,  next  to 
brute  force,  Rollo,  is  the  most  important  of  the 
virtues  in  dealing  with  women.  (As  he  exits  through 
door  L.)  Oh,  yes,  we  get  to  know  these  things  too 
late— that's  the  trouble.  (Exits.) 

(ROLLO  up  L.    Enter  GOLDIE.,) 

GOLDIE.  (To  below  table  c.)  Did  you  want  to 
speak  to  me? 

ROLLO.  (Severely)  Yes — why  didn't  you  tell  me 
that  your  name  was  Mary  ? 

GOLDIE.  Why,  Mr.  Webster?  Does  it  make  any 
difference  ? 

ROLLO.  Of  course  it  does.  It's  my  favorite  name. 
You  told  my  grandfather,  why  keep  it  from  me? 

GOLDIE.  I'm  sorry — I  wouldn't  have  told  him, 
only  it  came  up  while  we  were  talking. 

ROLLO.     He  was  in  love  with  your  grandmother. 

GOLDIE.     I  know  it. 

ROLLO.  He's  perfectly  willing  for  me  to  marry 
you. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  is  he?  Are  you  sure?  Did  he  say 
so? 

ROLLO.  Yes — but  what  difference  does  it  make? 
You're  not  willing.  I  asked  you  last  night  and — 
and  you  refused  me.  If  you  think  I'm  going  to  ask 
you  this  morning  just  because  my  grandfather  is 
willing,  you're  mistaken. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  115 

GOLDTE.  Still  I  can't  help  being  glad  he  wouldn't 
have  minded,  Mr.  Webster. 

ROLLO.  Why  it  is  "Mr.  Webster"  this  morning? 
Why  the  excessive  formality — when  only  last  night 
it  was  "Rollo"  and  I  was  kissing  you  in  my  dressing 
room? 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  Mr.  Webster,  don't.  It  seems  so 
awful  to  speak  of  such  things  here. 

ROLLO.  (Crosses  to  her)  Where  did  you  get 
that  dress? 

GOLDIE.  Lydia  lent  it  to  me.  It  belongs  to  some 
one  who's  coming  to  spend  the  week  end. 

ROLLO.    Well,  then,  I  certainly  won't  be  here. 

GOLDIE.    Do  you  know  who  it  belongs  to? 

ROLLO.  Yes.  I've  often  played  tennis  with  it. 
Goldie,  listen  to  me.  If  you  expect  me  to  go  on 
proposing  to  you — the  way  my  grandfather  did  to 
your  grandmother — one  hundred  times  that  he  re 
members  and  probably  more  that  he's  forgotten, 
just  put  it  out  of  your  mind ! 

GOLDIE.  (Sitting  L.  of  table  c.)  Why,  Mr.  Web 
ster? 

ROLLO.  Stop  calling  me  that.  I  ask  you  now  for 
the  last  time — making  a  sum  total  of  two.  This  will 
be  final,  Goldie — I  mean  it.  (Stopping  in  fear.)  If 
you  like,  I'll  wait  until  you  know  more  of  what  I'm 
going  to  develop  into.  The  Websters  are  all  pre 
cisely  alike.  I'll  get  my  Uncle  John  Webster  to 
come  for  a  visit  and  you  can  look  at  him — that  will 
be  me  at  middle  age  and  I'll  be  just  like  grand 
father  when  I'm  seventy.  That's  all  there  is  to  it — 

take  me  or  leave  me.    I  will  not  go  on  with  this 

(Stopping  miserably.) 

GOLDIE.    Will  you  let  me  say  something? 

ROLLO.     Yes.     Please  say  it  quickly.     Just  one 
word. 
GOLDIE.    I  can't. 


ii6  ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT 

ROLLO.    Two,  then. 

GOLDIE.    No. 

ROLLO.    Three  then,  Goldie,  is  it  the  right  three? 

GOLDIE.      No — Rollo,    I    want    you    to    forgive 

ROLLO.    (Disappointed)    Oh. 

GOLDIE.  I  thought  such  dreadful  things  of  you — 
because  of  the  girl  I  heard  singing  in  your  apart 
ment  the  first  day  I  met  you.  Now  I  know  it  was 
your  sister. 

ROLLO.  Lydia?  She  doesn't  sing  very  well,  but 
I'm  not  responsible  for  that. 

GOLDIE.  You  must  forgive  me  for  what  I  thought. 
She  was  there,  you  see. 

ROLLO.    So  were  you  ? 

GOLDIE.  I  know — but  she  was  there  first.  And 
I  was  so  surprised  and  disappointed — because  I 
thought  you  were  so  nice. 

ROLLO.  I  see — you  thought  she  was  a  wild  oat. 
It  doesn't  matter.  Don't  apologize  for  that. 

GOLDIE.  Oh,  Rollo — I'm  so  sorry  about — Ham 
let • 

ROLLO.  Good  Heavens — don't  be  sorry  for  Ham 
let — be  sorry  for  me. 

GOLDIE.  (Her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes)  That's 
what  I  mean — you  care  more  for  him  than  you  do 
for  anybody. 

("RoLLO  affected  by  her  tears,  bends  over  her.) 

ROLLO.  I  don't— I  don't.  Why,  Goldie,  I  realize 
now  that  all  the  time  I  was  striding  through  Ham 
let,  I  was  really  only  stumbling  along  my  way  to 
you.  (She  sobs  softly.  He  straightens  up)  I'll  ask 
you  to  marry  me  again  when  we  both  feel  more 
like  it. 


ROLLO'S  WILD  OAT  117 

GOLDIE.  Will  you?  Fd  like  not  to  be  crying 
when  I  accept  you. 

ROLLO.  Then  we'll  go  on  a  long  journey — far 
away  from  here.  We'll  borrow  your  sister's  baby 
so  people  will  think  we've  been  married  a  long  time, 
and  won't  annoy  us.  Wouldn't  you  like  that? 

GOLDIE.  Yes.  But,  oh,  it  would  even  be  more 
wonderful  to  stay  here  in  this  house  and  walk  in 
that  beautiful  garden  and  feel  that  it  was  home. 

ROLLO.  (Holding  out  his  hand.  GOLDIE  rises.) 
Oh,  well,  we  can  do  that,  too.  It  won't  take  long 
to  walk  around  the  garden,  and  think  about  home  a 
little.  (They  start  for  French  door,  ROLLO'S  arm 
about  GOLDIE.J 

GOLDIE.  Rollo.  (Almost  weeping)  I  love  your 
grandfather! 

ROLLO.  Never  mind,  darling.  I  love  your  grand 
mother!  (They  go  out  the  door  into  garden.) 

CURTAIN 


,  By  CLARK  KUMMBK. 

,TN 


I  LOVE  TO  WANDER  IN  THE  SPRING 

Allegro  vivace 

I    love     to   wan  -  der    in      the  spring  when 


-  -^          —  r~T~">  -*>  _j.jl>  — 


ti-ny  birds  are  darting  high!  I  love  to  wander  in  the  spring  and 


_  9=g^=^  — zLU^ZzgE 

drink  my  fill,   and  drink  my  fill      of  sun    and   sky! 


/T\ 

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Copyright,  1922,  by  by  Clare  Kummer. 


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KICK  IN 


Play  in  4  acts.  By  Willard  Mack.  7  males,  5  females. 
2  interiors.  Modern  costumes.  Plays  2%  hours. 

"Kick  In"  is  the  latest  of  the  very  few  available  mystery 
plays.  Like  "Within  the  Law,"  "Seven  Keys  to  Baldpate," 
"The  Thirteenth  Chair,"  and  "In  the  Next  Room,"  it  is  one 
of  those  thrillers  which  are  accurately  described  as  "not  having 
a  dull  moment  in  it  from  beginning  to  end."  It  is  a  play  with 
all  the  ingredients  of  popularity,  not  at  all  difficult  to  set  or  to 
net;  the  plot  carries  it  along,  and  the  situations  are  built  with 
that  skill  and  knowledge  of  the  theatre  for  which  Willard  Mack 
is  known.  An  ideal  mystery  melodrama,  for  high  schools  and 
colleges.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


TILLY  OF   BLOOMSBURY 

("Happy-Go-Lucky.")  A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Ian 
Hay.  9  males,  7  females.  2  interior  scenes.  Modern, 
dress.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

Into  an  aristocratic  family  conies  Tilly,  lovable  and  youthful, 
•with  ideas  and  manners  which  greatly  upset  the  circle.  Tilly 
is  so  frankly  honest  that  she  makes  no  secret  of  her  tre 
mendous  affection  for  the  young  son  of  the  family;  this  brings  her 
into  many  difficulties.  But  her  troubles  have  a  joyous  end  in 
charmingly  blended  scenes  of  sentiment  and  humor.  This  comedy 
presents  an  opportunity  for  fine  acting,  handsome  stage  settings, 
*nd  beautiful  costuming.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.) 

Price,  75  Cent*. 


BILLY 

Farce-comedy  in  3  acts.  By  George  Cameron.  10  males, 
5  females.  (A  few  minor  male  parts  can  be  doubled,  mak 
ing  the  cast  7  males,  5  females.)  1  exterior.  Costumes, 
modern.  Plays  2%  hours. 

The  action  of  the  play  takes  place  on  the  S.  S.  "Florida," 
bound  for  Havana.  The  story  has  to  do  with  the  disappearance  of 
a  set  of  false  teeth,  which  creates  endless  complications  among 
passengers  and  crew,  and  furnishes  two  and  a  quarter  hours  of 
the  heartiest  laughter.  One  of  the  funniest  comedies  produced  in 
the  last  dozen  years  on  the  American  stage  is  "Billy"  (some 
times  called  "Billy's  Tombstones"),  in  which  the  late  Sidney 
Drew  achieved  a  hit  in  New  York  and  later  toured  the  country 
several  times.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 

SAMUEL  FRENCH, "25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
New  and  Explicit  Descriptive  Catalogue  Mailed  Free  on  Request 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 

A  charming  comedy  in  3  acts.  Adapted  by  A.  E.  Thomas 
from  the  story  of  the  same  name  by  Alice  Duer  Miller. 
6  males,  5  females.  3  interior  scenes.  Costumes,  modern. 
Plays  2V2  hours. 

The  story  of  "Come  Out  of  the  Kitchen**  is  written  around  a 
Yirginia  family  of  the  old  aristocracy,  by  the  name  of  Dainger- 
field,  who,  finding  themselves  temporarily  embarrassed,  decide  to 
Tent  their  magnificent  home  to  a  rich  Yankee.  One  of  the  con 
ditions  of  the  lease  by  the  well-to-do  New  Englander  stipulates 
that  a  competent  staff  of  white  servants  should  be  engaged  for 
his  sojourn  at  the  stately  home.  This  servant  question  presents 
practically  insurmountable  difficulties,  and  one  of  the  daughters 
of  the  family  conceives  the  mad-cap  idea  that  she,  her  sister  and 
their  two  brothers  shall  act  as  the  domestic  staff  for  the  wealthy 
Yankee.  Olivia  Daingerfield,  who  is  the  ringleader  in  the  merry 
scheme,  adopts  the  cognomen  of  Jane  Allen,  and  elects  to  preside 
over  the  destinies  of  the  kitchen.  Her  sister,  Elizabeth,  is  ap 
pointed  housemaid.  Her  elder  brother,  Paul,  is  the  butler,  and 
Charley,  the  youngest  of  the  group,  is  appointed  to  the  position  of 
bootboy.  When  Burton  Crane  arrives  from  the  North,  accom 
panied  by  Mrs.  Faulkner,  her  daughter,  and  Crane's  attorney, 
Tucker,  they  find  the  staff  of  servants  to  possess  so  many  methods 
of  behavior  out  of  the  ordinary  that  amusing  complications  begin 
to  arise  immediately.  Olivia's  charm  and  beauty  impress  Crana 
above  everything  else,  and  the  merry  story  continues  through  a 
maze  of  delightful  incidents  until  the  real  identity  of  the  heroine 
Is  finally  disclosed.  But  not  until  Crane  has  professed  his  love 
for  his  charming  cook,  and  the  play  ends  with  the  brightest 
prospects  of  happiness  for  these  two  young  people.  "Come  Out 
of  the  Kitchen,"  with  Ruth  Chatterton  in  the  leading  role,  made 
B  notable  success  on  its  production  by  Henry  Miller  at  the  Cohan 
Theatre,  New  York.  It  was  also  a  great  success  at  the  Strand 
Theatre,  London.  A  most  ingenious  and  entertaining  comedy, 
and  we  strongly  recommend  it  for  amateur  production.  (Royalty, 
twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 

GOING   SOME 

Play  in  4  acts.  By  Paul  Armstrong  and  Rex  Beach. 
12  males,  4  females.  2  exteriors,  1  interior.  Costumes, 
modern  and  cowboy.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

Described  by  the  authors  as  the  "chronicle  of  a  certain  lot  of 
college  men  and  girls,  with  a  tragic  strain  of  phonograph  and 
cowboys."  A  rollicking  good  story,  full  of  action,  atmosphere, 
comedy  and  drama,  redolent  of  the  adventurous  spirit  of  youth. 
(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  4bth  Street,  New  York  City      . 
New  and  Explicit  Descriptive  Catalogue  Mailed  Free  on  Bequest 


NOT  SO  LONG  AGO 

Comedy  in  a  Prologue,  3  acts,  and  Epilogue.  By  Arthur 
Richman.  5  males,  7  females.  2  interiors,  1  exterior. 
Costumes,  1876.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

Arthur  Richman  has  constructed  his  play  around  the  Cinderella 
legend.  The  playwright  has  shown  great  wisdom  in  his  choice 
of  material,  for  he  has  cleverly  crossed  the  Cinderella  theme 
with  a  strain  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Mr.  Richman  places  his 
young  lovers  in  the  picturesque  New  York  of  forty  years  ago. 
This  time  Cinderella  is  a  seamstress  in  the  home  of  a  social 
climber,  who  may  have  been  the  first  of  her  kind,  though  we 
doubt  it.  She  is  interested  sentimentally  in  the  son  of  this  house. 
Her  father,  learning  of  her  infatuation  for  the  young  man  without 
learning  also  that  it  is  imaginary  on  the  young  girl's  part,  starts 
out  to  discover  his  intentions.  He  is  a  poor  inventor.  The 
mother  of  the  youth,  ambitious  chiefly  for  her  children,  shud 
ders  at  the  thought  of  marriage  for  her  son  with  a  sewing-girl. 
But  the  Prince  contrives  to  put  the  slipper  on  the  right  foot,  and 
'he  end  is  happiness.  The  play  \s  quaint  and  agreeable  and  the 
three  acts  are  rich  in  the  charm  of  love  and  youth.  (Royalty, 
twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


THE  LOTTERY  MAN 

Comedy  in  3  acts,  by  Rida  Johnson  Young.  4  males, 
6  females.  3  easy  interiors.  Costumes,  modern.  Playi 
2^4  hours. 

In  "The  Lottery  Man"  Rida  Johnson  Young  has  seized  upon, 
•  custom  of  some  newspapers  to  increase  their  circulation  by 
clever  schemes.  Mrs.  Young  has  made  the  central  figure  in  her 
iamous  comedy  a  newspaper  reporter,  Jack  Wright.  Wright  owes 
his  employer  money,  and  he  agrees  to  turn  in  one  of  the  most 
sensational  scoopa  the  paper  has  ever  known.  His  idea  is  to 
conduct  a  lottery,  with  himself  as  the  prize.  The  lottery  is  an 
nounced.  Thousands  of  old  maids  buy  coupons.  Meantime  Wright 
ialls  in  love  with  a  charming  girl.  Naturally  he  fears  that  he 
may  be  won  by  someone  else  and  starts  to  get  as  many  ticket! 
as  his  limited  means  will  permit.  Finally  the  last  day  is  an 
nounced.  The  winning  number  is  1323,  and  is  held  by  Lizzie, 
an  old  maid,  in  the  household  of  the  newspaper  owner.  Lizzie 
refuses  to  give  up.  It  is  discovered,  however,  that  she  has  stolen 
the  ticket.  With  this  clue,  the  reporter  threatens  her  with  arrest. 
Of  course  the  coupon  is  surrendered  and  Wright  gets  the  girl  of 
his  choice.  Produced  at  the  Bijou  Theater,  New  York,  with 
great  success.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
New  and  Explicit  Descriptive  Catalogue  Mailed  Free  on  Eeguest 


I 


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•n  J 

FEB31198 

) 

BBC.  CIS.    FEB      5 

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B82 

PG.CIE,    MAY  13  13 

52 

NOV  1  0  1984 

RECEIVED  B 

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NUV  1  1  13b4 

CIRCULATION  DE 

J. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 

FORM  NO.  DD6,  60m,  1  1  778          BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


LIBRARIES 


736611 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


FRENCH'S 
Standard  Library  Edition 


George    M.    Cohan 
W  foe  tell    Smith 
Rootb    Tarkington 
WiU4ast   Gillette 
Prank   Craven 
6hwea    Davis 
\u»tJn    Strong 
\.   A.  Miine 
Harriet  P«rd 
*>aui  Green 
Ja«M-s    Montgomery 
Arthur    Ricnman 
t'ftilip  Barry 
i$»*rse    Middleton 
ainc    P«llock 
Kaufman 
#Sw-U«   Flavin 
Victor  At  apes 


Jehn*'jn    Young 
««r?aret    Muyo 
lt»*  Cooper  Megrae 
Man  W.  tester 
•§**!•  ge    Rroadhurst 
H  chart 

S.    Uham 
ftallard 
f»«T«y   MacKaye 
WiH«rd   Mack 

K.  Jerome 
C.  Carton 

iUiam  Cary   Dunfcn 
Arthur  Conan  Doyte 


Include*  Plays  by 

Thomaj 
Racbe!   Crotiiera 
W.    Vv.   Ji*c«bj» 
Ernest    Denny 
Ken. -«n    Nicholson 
Aaren    Ho=faii*n 
H     V.   L:.siT)>nd    , 
Evi^ur   Set 
Laurence    riousmen 
l&rttei    ZargwiJI 
Waiter   hackett 
A.    b.    Thonifa* 
Edna    Ferber 
Jahii   Henry    Mear# 
Mark  Swan 
John    8.    Staplet«n 
predeiick    Lunsdal- 
Bryon   Ongley 
Rex    Bead) 
Paul   Armstrong 
M.    A      Du    .S->uchei 
Geoi  ^e    Aae 
J.   Hartley.   Manner* 
Barry    Conner* 
Edith  Ellis 
Harold    BrlgMe«*e 
Harvey     J. 
Clare    IKummer 
James  Forbes 
William    C. 
Thompson    Buchanan 
C.     Had*   n    Ciutm0«r« 
Richard  Harding  Davfct 


6eorge   Kelly 
Louis    N.   Parker 
Anthony   Hope 
Lewis   Beach 
Guy   Bolton 
Edward     U.    Ro*« 
Marc   Connelly 
Frederick    S'suldUv-r 
Lyna    SUrling 
Clyde  Fitch 
[iari    U>'.Tr    Bigger* 
Thuma*    Br»a<lJiur*t 
Chaiies    Kiein 
Buyard    Vetllcr 
Grace    L.    Furniss 
IViurtha    Morton 
K^hert    tt«u*um 
Cari^ie   Moore 
SaJiibttt      FielJ 


Hwry   J-.aueji   r'raith 
Eden.  Phiitpotts 
Brandon    Tynan 
Clayton    Nainilton 
Bdwurd  Sheldon 
f>ichcrd 


Paul  PiCK*y 
Frank  Bac*n 
Edward 


A.    E.   W.    M«5.->n 
Cosmo  Gordon  -i-enna* 


Catherine   Cb^holm   Cushi»K 

5  dward    Child*    Carpenter 
ttdetin*  Lucette  Rylej 


J.  C.  a^i   EJ«<»« 

J«*t!n   Runt4oy   McCarthy 

Jo*ephln«  Prwton  Peab^dy 

International    Copyrighted    Edition    contain*    play*, 
farc«»  of  International  repufcirtcn;  als»  rec««it  j>r©fe*Mon«t  *ucc»***< 
by    iaraou*    American    »ud    En«n&U    Authors. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH 

Oldest   Play   P«bli«hcr   in   th«   World 
W«t  45*   Street.  NEW   YORK    CJT» 


